


Friend of a Friend

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, Established Relationship, Horror, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-12
Updated: 2011-11-06
Packaged: 2018-09-03 09:01:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 41,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8706109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: When murders styled after urban legends begin taking place at Stanford, Dean shows up to assist Sam after months of being apart. As the brothers work to stop the killer and also repair the relationship that caused Sam to run away from home, they realize that there is more going than meets the eye at Stanford and soon find themselves the killer's targets. Crossover with Urban Legend. Eventual Wincest.





	1. Backseat

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

  
Author's notes: **Sam awakens from a nightmare but quickly learns that it may have been more than that.**  


* * *

_The young woman was driving down the dark and rainy highway, squinting through her windshield to try and see through the torrential downpour that was currently pummeling the California Coast. Short, mousy hair framed a heart shaped face that was currently furrowed in concentration. She'd never been one for driving through thunderstorms like this and she expected it to get worse as the night progressed. Every so often she glanced downwards towards the high beams now splaying light across the path ahead, as though afraid they were turned off._

_She shivered as unpleasant memories came back to her. Her petite hands gripped the steering wheel so hard that her knuckles turned white. The same feeling of guilt that always flooded through her whenever she though about that incident seemed to momentarily seize her like a vice and she closed her eyes, praying for the feeling to be over. The loud blaring of a horn caused her eyes to snap open and she veered to the right, having gone over the line and nearly slammed head on to the SUV that now sped passed her._

_Her nerves on end, she pressed a button on her stereo and tuned into the Stanford University Radio Station, the nearest signal she could find way out here on the highway._

_"You're listening to Up Late with Sasha," said a husky female voice, "and we're on the line with...Lisa. What juicy secrets have you got for me, hun?"_

_The girl rolled her eyes and switched to her CD player before she could hear any of the lurid tales the caller would undoubtedly spill. She'd heard tell of the kinds of things people called into midnight sex shows with and she was in no mood to listen to any kind of botched attempt at sex tonight. The lilting, familiar opening piano chords caused a smile to play across her lips and she unconsciously found herself singing in her off key, off tempo voice._

_"Every now and then I get a little bit lonely and you're never comin' round."_

_As she sped along through the slick streets, she saw the orange glow of a gas station through the rainfall. A glance at her fuel gauge told her that this was a lucky break as she was nearly out of gas. Strange. She could've sworn she'd left with a full tank. Sighing inwardly at the minor delay, she pulled into the gas station and shut the stereo off, not really keen on having a late night gas station attendant snickering at her taste in music._

_There weren't any other cars at the gas station. There were barely any other vehicles on the road this late. The station itself was large, and doubled as some kind of repair garage. The two gas pumps were almost as ancient as the building itself and she suddenly felt apprehensive about who would be working here at this time of night. But, any port in a storm. She glanced out the window trying to see if anyone was in the office when a tap on her window caused her to jump and let out a small scream._

_She turned in her seat and saw a grubby, tall and lanky man with a length of stringy hair peering in at her. He was wearing mechanic's overalls which bore the name of the gas station and seemed to be waiting for her to roll down her window. She obliged, but felt inwardly nervous. This was not the kind of scenario she wanted to find herself in. Especially after what had happened all those months ago._

_"C-c-can I h-h-help you?" the man asked with a stutter that immediately made her heart sink. This was getting better and better. She dug in her purse and pulled out a credit card which she handed to the man._

_"Umm...full serve, please." she said, trying her best not to sound bossy._

_The man took a long look at her credit card and then nodded. She rolled up her window and looked out the windshield, anything to get away from the creepy thin attendant. She did not notice the man stop mid-turn and look intently through the back passenger window. If she had she would have noticed his eyes widen with fear. The next second, however, he disappeared into the small gas office. The young woman continued staring forward, wanting nothing more than to get out of here._

_To her relief the man came out not thirty seconds later, hunched against the rain and the wind. She rolled her window down and reached to take her credit card, but he did not give it._

_"Is there a problem?" she asked._

_"Th-th-th-the c-cr-credit card c-c-company. On the ph-phone. Your c-c-c-card has b-been denied."_

_She felt her heart sink. This was definitely not going well. Her credit card couldn't have been denied. She worked damn hard to make sure she never maxed it out. However, she did not want to enrage the man by a flat refusal, so she nodded and, when his back was turned, dug in her purse for a small can of pepper spray which she hid up the sleeve of her jacket._

_Sprinting through the storm, she made it into the gas office, which was cramped and lead right into the massive garage. It smelled of gasoline, rubber tires and stale beer. The man was standing next to an old fashioned rotary phone. The receiver was off the hook and the man gestured nervously to it before looking out the window at her car again. Gripping the pepper spray tighter in her hand, she picked up the receiver...only to hear the dial tone._

_She turned to the man who suddenly moved forward with such speed that she shrieked in fright and held the can in front of her._

_"DON"T TOUCH ME!!!" she cried, spraying him in the eyes. He cried out in pain and fell to the ground. Stopping only to pick up her credit card, the young woman turned but found the door locked. She pivoted, avoiding the man who was know on the ground clutching at his face, and picked up the telephone, hurling it through the window._

_"WAIT!" the man cried out as she hopped over the window sill and rushed back out into the storm. But she did not listen. She ran to her car, wrenched the door open and jammed the key in the ignition. She was about to drive away when the attendant slammed against the hood, causing her to scream._

_"WAIT!" he yelled again. She put the car in drive and stepped on the gas. The man jumped out of the way in time to avoid being run over. As she drove off into the night, she did not hear him scream, "THERE'S SOMEONE IN THE BACK SEAT!!!"_

_She felt the tears mix with the rain water as she sped as fast as she could away from the gas station. Her heart was racing and her mind was still trying to catch up with what had happened. Trying not to think what that man might have done to her, she pressed play on the stereo again and felt herself calming down. As the song played, she felt herself calm down and was soon singing along._

_"Turn around bright eyes."_

_It was only after she sang this that her own bright eyes happened to catch a movement from the back seat in the rear view mirror. She glanced up in time to see the hulking dark figure behind her seat. She gasped and slammed on the breaks in enough time for the figure, who wore a dark fur lined parka pulled over their face, to raise a two bladed axe and swing. The axe connected with her neck, drowning any attempt at a scream. The blade tore through flesh and bone and smashed through the driver side window, sending glass and blood everywhere. Her head went flying off her shoulder, through the window and landed with a thud on the slick road next to her car, her eyes staring ahead in surprise._

 

Sam Winchester's own bright eyes fluttered open. Lying on his double bed, he glanced to his left and right, trying hard to get his mind straight. He felt his heart beating a thousand miles and could still hear the scream and sound of shattered glass. That dream...that nightmare had been so real he felt as though he'd been sitting in the passenger seat with that poor woman. 

 

Sitting up, the eighteen year old looked around his dorm room. It was dark and he could hear the rain pounding against the windows. Low rumbles of thunder and the odd flash of lightning almost made him feel like he was still in the dream. He raised a hand unconsciously to the back of his neck and rubbed it, almost afraid that he'd feel an axe stuck there. But all was normal. Sighing, he got to his feet and switched the lamp on. 

 

The dorm room he shared with his roommate Paul Gardener was as neat as the two young men tried to keep it. Sam's side of the room was messier than studious Paul's, but that was to be expected. Growing up with demon hunters had somehow affected his sense of organization. Some of his shirts were lying on the floor and he noticed that his books had fallen out of his bag. He got up to right them and noticed one in particular. The cover of which had an illustration of a young woman looking in the rear view mirror of her car and seeing a shadowy figure in the with an axe in the back seat. 

 

Sam ran a hand through his untidy brown hair and sighed. Of course he'd had that dream. His folklore professor had told the class to read this book, An Encyclopedia of Urban Legends, to gain some background knowledge before they began their new topic the next day. Not that many of the students needed it. Most of the people on campus had heard the urban legends listed in the book. Sighing again, Sam tucked the book into his book bag and turned to head back to bed. It was nearly eleven at night and he had to get up early to meet his friends in the lounge. 

 

Sam turned back to his bed and was about to crawl back under his sheets when a flash of lightning illuminated the room. In that brief moment, Sam saw that Paul's bed was empty. He frowned at this. It wasn't unusual for his roommate to disappear at odd hours. Paul was a leading reporter for the Stanford Student Newspaper, and was more than likely out following some kind of hot lead. Well...hot for a university. Most of Paul's articles tended to deal with mundane things that were of no real importance. Sam felt bad for him. Paul was enthusiastic about his work. Maybe a little too enthusiastic. Yet he never seemed to show what he was really made of. 

 

Taking a deep breath, Sam crawled into bed and stared at the ceiling for a few moments, the lamp still casting an orange light over everything. He'd been at Stanford for over a semester now and was having a generally good time. He'd made himself more friends than he'd ever had during any year of his basic education. He'd gotten close to a few of them. Very close to one especially. Of course that had ended a little more sourly than he'd intended. But still...he was having a great time and was actually happy, which was pretty good for someone who had run away from his only remaining family to be at Stanford in the first place. 

 

Sam didn't like to think back to the event that had made him run. Granted, growing up having to live with your father and older brother always running off to fight demons when you needed help with your homework wasn't what he'd call a stellar childhood. He'd learned a lot from his dad and from Dean and was grateful for that. But now that he tasted normalcy, he wasn't keen on going back. 

 

Especially not after what had happened between himself and Dean. Thinking about it, even now, only caused a tight feeling of pain to form in the pit of Sam's stomach. It had all started so perfectly too. It was easy when they'd first started nearly four years ago. He and Dean had always been closer than close, having only one another to rely on most of the times. Sam had looked up to Dean, had gone to him for protection even when their father was around. While it wasn't exactly natural for things between them to have developed the way they had, he had found it incredibly easy. They'd had to hide it from those few people they knew, especially their father. But Dean had always said that once they were out on their own...then things would be easy. They wouldn't have to worry so much. 

 

And in the naive idealism of youth, Sam had believed him. To Sam, Dean was always able to make things happen. He'd never counted on Dean being too chicken shit to actually leave dear old Dad's side when Sam had finally asked him if they could finally get out on their own together.

 

Rolling onto his side, Sam looked at the small silver picture on his night side table. The one of him and Dean at the beach. The one that had been taken only a few days before all he'd thought they'd had had gone to hell in a proverbial hand basket. He and Dean were smiling brightly in the picture, Dean jump-hugging him from behind, his soft green eyes shining with mirth. Sam's smile was more subdued, but his own eyes were on Dean. 

 

His eyes had only ever been on Dean. But that wasn't good enough. It never had been. Not when Daddy was around. Sam still couldn't understand why Dean had chosen him over Sam. All his life, Sam had been instructed on the dangers of the world in which they operated. He'd had to see things not child should see and the whole time was expected to just deal with it. He knew how to use guns and knives and had an extensive knowledge of the arcane. What most people called child raising John Winchester called training, and Sam hated his father for it and would always hate him for it. And when Dean had done what he had done, he'd made it perfectly clear to Sam just who he thought was more important. 

 

Sam felt the slough of emotions welling up in him like a geyser ready to burst. Hurt, anger and sorrow, all of these threatened to overtake him and he took a deep, long breath to calm himself down. He couldn't let the dam burst. The one he'd been building ever since he'd come here. It nearly had once or twice and he didn't want to risk his new friendships for anything. 

 

He shut the lamp off, rolled over and closed his eyes. Whatever had happened in the past was the past and that's where he preferred it to be. He had a huge new vista of opportunity at Stanford and the fact that he'd made friends, real friends, was enough to let him know that he'd made the right choice by coming here. He'd forgotten about that dream now, and attributed it to coincidence, something he'd started believing in again when he'd first come here. Just before he dozed off though, he did wonder a little bit. He didn't worry. He just wondered if maybe it were possible for that dream to have been something more. After all, just because urban legends had never really happened didn't mean they never could. He shook that thought off and in a moment was lulled to sleep by the sounds of the storm.

 

He was sound asleep when his roommate Paul snuck quietly into the room around dawn and stuffed his dark green, fur lined parka into the back of the closet they shared before quietly getting into his own bed.

 

ooo

 

Sam forgot about the dream when he woke up the next morning. When he finally shut off his alarm clock and sat up in bed, he was aware the Paul was up and getting things ready for his first class. A good looking guy with a sharp, thin face and cropped black hair, Paul had a look about him that screamed ambition. Just the way he moved was enough to tell you that this was someone who would do whatever it took to get to where he wanted too. 

 

"Hey." Sam said. 

 

Paul grinned. "Good morning sunshine." he said, his brilliant blue eyes crinkling. "Have a nice sleep?"

 

Sam shrugged as he went to the closet to pick out some clean clothes for the day. 

 

"I guess." 

 

"That god damn storm woke me up." Paul grumbled, packing a small camera into his bag. 

 

Sam, who had just selected his school sweater and a pair of jeans suddenly remembered waking up last night. He looked over his shoulder at Paul, not noticing the fur lined parka in the back of the closet. 

 

"Where did you go last night?" Sam asked. 

 

Paul paused for the briefest moment and shrugged nonchalantly. 

 

"Stanley Hall." he said. 

 

"Seriously?" Sam asked incredulously. Stanley Hall was an abandoned dormitory house that had been shut down twenty five years ago after a brutal murder that had been committed. Some people claimed it was haunted. Sam, with his knowledge of all things dark and eldritch knew better than that. Still, the place was pretty damn creepy sitting all alone on the edge of campus with boarded windows. 

 

Paul shrugged again, brushing passed Sam and taking a black jacket out of the closet. 

 

"Yeah. I wanted to do a piece on the anniversary of the massacre for the paper. I got a few shots that I think might make it a little more exciting then it actually sounds. That lightning has a way of adding atmosphere."

 

"See any demon pigs?" Sam asked, pulling his sweater over his head. Again he was joking. Most people knew the Amityville Horror was a big fat hoax. He knew it wasn't. Just a standard hallucinatory demon making an upper middle class family see things. That's what his dad had told him. 

 

"Nope." Paul replied. "Well, unless you count Damon."

 

Sam stopped in the middle of pulling on his jeans. 

 

"What the hell was he doing there?" Sam asked, trying not to sound interested in the slightest. He doubted Paul knew anything about his history with the campus practical joker who was know a certified asshole fraternity brother. 

 

Paul shrugged once more and hoisted his book bag over his shoulder. 

 

"Probably fucking a raccoon for all I know." He paused before heading out the door. "That would make a good human interest piece. Local Frat Boy Caught in Bestiality Scandal. Priceless." 

 

Sam chuckled nervously and then picked up his own book bag. 

 

"Going to the lounge?" he asked Paul as they headed out into the hallway. 

 

Paul shook his head. "Can't. I need to get these photos developed."

 

Sam rolled his eyes. "Paul, it's the twenty first century. What the hell are you using a dark room for?"

 

"Atmosphere." Paul said with a chuckle. "Besides I like the red glow."

 

The two of them rounded the corner and went down a flight of stairs and finally made it to the doors outside. Once they were outside, Sam breathed the clean smell of spring rain. The pavement was still wet despite there not being a dark cloud in sight. The rain must have stopped only a few hours ago. Students were out and about, sitting on the banisters of stairs and hanging out before the daily grind began. He smiled to himself. This was normal. This was what he wanted. 

 

Sam headed off towards the student lounge which was at the other end of the quad. He noticed Paul was following him.

 

"What about those photos?" Sam asked with a cheeky grin. "All alone and undeveloped."

 

"They'll survive for a while." Paul said, his eyes glued to the nearby parking lot. Sam followed his gaze and saw that two police cars were parked there and several officers were talking with the dean and members of campus security. Sam could almost see the reporter instincts in Paul spring into action. 

 

"I'll catch up." he said and hurried off towards the parking lot. Sam rolled his eyes and continued on towards the student lounge. He'd have a little time before his first class to hang out with his friends, maybe even get a cup of coffee and a bagel. 

 

The lounge was full of students, some of them sitting down to breakfast and chatting, others doing some last minute studying. It being late April, they were preparing for the final exams which were weeks away. When Sam entered, his eyes went right to the seats by the fireplace where he could see several people gathered. A petite girl with bushy brown hair smiled brightly at him and gestured for him to sit. Sam held up a hand and jerked his head to the cafe. She nodded and went back to talking with the others. 

 

Sam ordered a cup of coffee and, after a particularly loud gurgle from his stomach, added a cinnamon roll to his order. After paying, he turned and was about to go and join the others by the fireside when he heard a report on the nearby radio. 

 

"...once more, police are investigating the grisly and bizarre death of Michelle Mancini, a nineteen year old woman who was traveling to Stanford University late last night when she was apparently murdered in her car. Police have reason to believe that the assailant was hiding in the backseat in wait for Ms. Mancini who was seen by gas station attendant Michael McDonnell minutes before her death. Ms. Mancini's decapitated corpse was found..."

 

Sam felt the coffee cup slip from his hand and shatter on the floor, spilling hot coffee everywhere and sending ceramic purple shards in all directions on the linoleum. People in the nearby area stared at him, some whispering to each other, but Sam didn't notice them. That radio report...it matched his dream perfectly.


	2. Pop Rocks

  
Author's notes: **Sam and his friends discuss the recent murder and find themselves facing another urban legend. A surprise visitor shows up.**  


* * *

Sam stood there, a cold dread seizing hold of him that was in stark contrast with the hot coffee that was spreading in a puddle under his feet. He should have known better than to doubt a dream like that. His father and Dean had always told him that dreams were important, his especially. He'd had a knack for having prophetic dreams as a child, although he'd worked hard to suppress them. But if he'd just been a little less stubborn maybe that girl could've had a chance. 

 

_Don't be stupid,_ he thought bitterly, _there's no way you could've stopped that from happening._ He shook himself out of his stupor and bent down to pick up what piece of ceramic he could manage. He knew there wasn't a chance that he could've helped Michelle Mancini. He'd been fast asleep when she'd been murdered, miles away without a care in the world. Even if he had known earlier, the chances of him actually being able to help her in any way were practically impossible.

 

"Leave that." said a soft voice. Sam looked up to see Brenda Bates looking down at him, her pale blue eyes shining in concern. "Mr. Creepy Janitor can pick it up later." 

 

Sam nodded and got to his feet, towering over the petite girl whose bushy brown hair framed her pretty face. Brenda had been the first person Sam had met when he'd come to Stanford. She was a Sophomore and had transferred from some college in the East at the beginning of the year. She and Sam shared a close friendship only rivaled by the one she shared with Sam's girlfriend Natalie Simon, who was looking over her seat at him now.

 

"You okay?" Brenda asked as they moved towards the seats by the fireplace, side stepping the broken pieces of Sam's coffee mug. 

 

"That report on the radio..." Sam said, feeling increasingly awkward for the way he'd reacted. 

 

Brenda bit her lip and glanced at him sympathetically. "Yeah." she said softly. "That poor girl. I wonder if anybody here knew her..."

 

"I doubt it." Sam sighed as he sat down on the sofa next to Natalie. "Sounds like she was transferring here."

 

"Who?" Natalie asked, turning her brown eyes to Sam in curiosity. The red head was Brenda's best friend. It was amazing how fast they'd gotten to know each other in the time it took Brenda to settle in this year. It had been Brenda who had introduced Sam to Natalie after Sam's first romantic entanglement had gone south. Despite the fact that they were admittedly going steady, it was remarkable how little time they actually spent together. Brenda and Natalie were tight and that meant that Sam and Natalie could only get together alone when Brenda was busy. Not that it bugged Sam too much. Natalie was nice enough, but neither of them seemed really interested in if the relationship was going any where. 

 

"That girl on the radio report." Brenda said in answer to Natalie's question. "The one who got axed last night."

 

"Oh..." Natalie looked around uncomfortably. Sam moved to put his arm over her, but she shifted away almost unconsciously and stared off towards the speakers mounted on the wall. Over the general murmur of conversation, Sam could tell that the report had ended. For some reason, Natalie's small refusal of his comfort caused Sam to feel slightly hurt, which was odd. He usually just attributed Natalie's attitude regarding their relationship to her being too busy or involved with Brenda. Then again, Natalie didn't know a lot of things about Sam. He didn't know a lot of things about her when it came down to it. 

 

"It's really creepy when you think about it." said a husky voiced blonde girl sitting on the couch opposite Sam and Natalie. She was a pretty, curvy young woman with long blonde hair and a face shaped like a strawberry. Her eyes were also now fixed on the speaker and she was showing no interest in the subtle caresses the tall man beside her was giving. "That murder...you know...it sounds just like that one urban legend."

 

"Which one's that Sasha?" Natalie asked quickly. 

 

Sasha rolled her eyes at Natalie. "You know...the one about the killer in the backseat. I mean, that girl couldn't have known that the murderer was in the car with her until she left the gas station. My mom still checks the backseat of her car because of that story."

 

Brenda shivered. "Maybe the killer snuck into the car when she while she was at the gas station."

 

"The cops said that the gas station attendant said there wasn't anybody else around." the man beside Sasha said. 

 

Sam bit his lip. He felt like telling the others about the dream he'd had, but he had a feeling that they'd either regard him with skepticism or ridicule. Maybe not Sasha. She was the most understanding of the group. A junior, Sasha was also the most open, working towards a degree in sexual psychology and also working as the late night sex therapist for the campus radio. Her interest in sex was founded in genuine curiosity. As she'd told Sam once, it was fascinating to her that something so basic and physical could have such an impact on people's lives. She wanted to know why people found sex so intriguing. Despite this somewhat risque career choice, Sasha was incredibly motherly, especially towards Sam, who thought of her as a big sister. 

 

He could say less for her boyfriend, who was know kissing the side of Sasha's neck despite her look of annoyance. Parker was a fraternity brother and the one who'd been responsible for the change in Damon. He was every bit as much an asshole as it was possible to be and seemed to like being with Sasha because of her interest in sex, although Parker's interest was admittedly more physical than Sasha's was. A tall guy with thin brown hair and a penchant for wearing sweater vests, Parker especially enjoyed heckling Sam, but knew better to do it when Sasha was in earshot. 

 

Taking a deep breath, Sam reached into his book bag and pulled out _An Encyclopedia of Urban Legends_ and turned to the chapter detailing the Backseat Killer. It wasn't exactly necessary. As he'd recalled last night, most people knew about popular urban legends like this one. Skimming through the story, he discovered that details of the murder matched the story pretty closely. The only difference being was that in most tales, the young woman usually escaped death when the gas station attendant told her about the person in backseat right after they entered the office. 

 

"Put that away." Parker said scornfully. 

 

Sam frowned. "Geez Parker. Just because you can pass classes with stunning good looks and charisma doesn't mean the rest of us can."

 

Parker glared at Sam and was about to snap back when Brenda sat up straighter in her seat. 

 

"Hey Paul." she said brightly. 

 

Sam turned and saw Paul walking towards where they were sitting. He felt Natalie sit up a little straighter next to him. _Why the hell are we even going out in the first place?_ he thought. _Oh right, because if I'm with her that means I don't have to deal with Damon._

 

"Hey." Paul said with a nod towards Brenda. 

 

"Find anything out?" Sam asked, recalling that Paul had gone towards the area where the cops and campus officials were gathered. 

 

Paul shrugged and plopped himself into the only remaining seat. "Only as much as the rest of the campus seems to know. Some poor girl was killed in the style of the Backseat Killer urban legend while on her way to Stanford. I thought they were trying to blow me off at first, but they really don't seem to have a clue." 

 

"Ooh, listen to the Hardy Boy." Parker said. "Gonna put this in the paper, Peter Parker?"

 

"Maybe." Paul said. "Then again I could always run an article on sex crimes in fraternity hazings."

 

Parker sat up straight in his seat, his body tense, his face contorted in anger.

 

"You better fucking be kidding." he said in a low, but menacing voice. 

 

Paul shrugged. The rest of the group was watching the exchange between them with varying emotions. Brenda and Sam both looked amused by the display of machismo, while Natalie looked nervous. Sasha out of all of them had the decency to look annoyed. 

 

"I could always talk to some of the new brothers." Paul said in an off handed voice. "Like...Damon maybe."

 

"Damon's my friend." Parker said bitterly. "Why the fuck would he talk to you?"

 

"Jesus, Parker." Sasha said angrily, getting to her feet. "Can't you just get along with people for more than five minutes." She turned on her heel and stormed out of the student lounge, Parker looking after her in confused anger. 

 

"Great Paul," he said turning to the other man, "just fucking great." He got to his feet, glared at Paul and Sam and then stormed off after Sasha. 

 

A brief moment of silence followed this. Then Brenda burst out laughing. 

 

"That was, um, interesting." she said with a smile at Paul. "One more second and Parker would've been coming at you with his fists."

 

"No," said Sam. "He's got a reputation to protect."

 

"Reputation? For what?" Natalie asked, seemingly recovering herself. 

 

"Were you really serious about the sex crimes in the frat hazing?" Brenda asked, giving both Sam and Paul significant looks. Sam felt his heart sink. Brenda was intuitive and more than once before he was sure she'd figured out that something had gone on between Sam and Damon.

 

Paul shrugged and then pulled out a tape recorder. 

 

"It's possible." he said. "It would explain a lot." Then becoming suddenly businesslike he said, "I should try and get some interviews. Put the whole student reaction spin on the article."

 

"I thought you were writing an article about Stanley Hall." Sam said.

 

Paul grinned. "This is more current. I'll probably still run Stanley Hall, but that can wait for a bit. Remember the anniversary of the massacre isn't for a few days. Now," he pressed the record button of the tape recorder, "let's get some candid quotes from the devastated student population."

 

"Oh," Brenda leaned forward eagerly, her enthusiasm a bit to be near Paul a bit too obvious. "Um, I'm really devastated. This is a school wide-

 

"You guys come on." Natalie said with a voice wracked with anguish. "This isn't funny. Somebody died."

 

Paul and Brenda had the grace to look ashamed of themselves. 

 

"You okay?" Sam asked her quietly. Natalie looked up at him, her big brown eyes betraying the real anger and sorrow she was feeling. For a brief moment, Sam felt the connection between them strengthen. It was moments like this when he really wanted to have a better relationship with Natalie. 

 

She nodded. "I'm okay." she said softly. "I just...don't think it's right to be making some kind of sensation out of this. She was a real person...she had friends and family and now...she's just...gone."

 

"I'm sorry Natalie." Brenda said softly.

 

Natalie grinned at her friend. "It's alright. Let's just...give it a rest for a moment." She glanced at Paul who quickly tucked the tape recorder back into his bag.

 

Sam sighed and then checked his watch. 

 

"We better get going." he said. "Wexler's not going to be happy if we're late."

 

They all got to their feet, Paul nodding at Sam, Natalie and Brenda before heading off. Brenda stared after him longingly.

 

"He's so adorable." Brenda said with a sigh. "So much dedication to the paper. And he's got a nice ass too."

 

"Brenda, he's my roommate." Sam reminded her. 

 

"That's right!" Brenda said, turning to him with sudden enthusiasm. "Hey, you guys change in the same room right?"

 

"Yes." Sam said. "And in answer to what you're going to say, I've never seen Paul naked before."

 

"Shit." Brenda cursed.

 

They all laughed and turned and headed out of the student lounge towards the building where they had their folklore class with Professor Wexler. Students passed them on the green, most of them looking back to gaze at the distant faculty building where the police cars were still parked. Brenda, who was wearing a white string tank top with her school hoodie tied around her waist, shivered slightly at the slightly cool spring morning. She untied her sweat and pulled it over her head, yawning widely as she did so.

 

"Sleep much?" Natalie said with a small smile.

 

Brenda grinned. "You don't want to know what I was up to last night. The gory details might be too much for your pretty little head." She gave another small yawn and then said, "You know this couldn't be more timely."

 

"What?" Sam and Natalie asked at the same time. 

 

"This murder. I mean it's kinda weird that there's an urban legend style murder the night before Wexler starts his seminar on urban legends."

 

"What you think he's the killer?" Sam asked wryly, knowing the small, studious Professor Wexler couldn't possibly be a killer, no matter how creepy he was. Still, he had to agree with Brenda. It was a very alarming coincidence. And coincidence was something that he was starting to believe less and less in. Ever since that dream turned out to be all too true he was starting to wonder whether or not his family's specialty might be helpful in dealing with this situation. 

 

"This whole thing is impossible." Sam said as they headed up the stairs to the building. "It relies completely on coincidence. The killer would have had to know that Michelle Mancini would be alone, that she would run out of gas, stop at a gas station and, most importantly, not check the back seat of the car." 

 

"Can we just please stop talking about this!?" Natalie burst out angrily. 'It's bad enough that Paul is treating it like a one way ticket to a Pulitzer." She stormed off ahead of them and into the building. Sam and Brenda looked at each other, surprised by Natalie's reaction. It was natural for her to be upset about a murder, but it seemed like she was taking it personally. 

 

"Do you think..." Sam began.

 

Brenda shook her head. "No. No fucking way. She did not know that girl." She idly put her hand over the ring she wore around the chain on her neck. Sam had always admired the necklace, despite the ring being plain stainless steel. Brenda had been wearing it on the day they'd met and Sam could not recall ever seeing her without it. 

 

"Right." Sam said, without really feeling any sense of acquiescence. He didn't know that much about Natalie, and the chances of her knowing that girl were pretty slim but then again he'd thought the same thing about that dream he'd had last night. He and Brenda followed Natalie into the building, neither of them saying anything more about the murder. They were just outside the door when Sam saw him, leaning against the wall, his gelled blonde hair shining in the florescent lights, his whole posture a complete testament to his personality, cocky and devil-may-care. He looked up when he saw Sam and Brenda, his blue-grey eyes locking on Sam's instantly. For a moment, Sam felt himself drawn as he had been when he'd first met him. But he knew better now. 

 

Brenda glanced at Sam knowingly.

 

"I'll see you in there." she jerked her head toward the door of the classroom. "Hey Damon." she said quickly passing by the boy leaning against the wall. 

 

Sam took a deep breath. The hallway was empty, most of the people who entered this building at this time of day usually did so for the folklore class. He and Damon were completely alone now. 

 

"Hey." Sam said in a falsely off hand voice. 

 

Damon pushed himself off the wall and took a step forward. His eyes raked Sam's body for a moment before he wrapped his arms around Sam's neck. Not knowing if this was merely a very tight bro hug or something else, Sam didn't really know how to react, so he awkwardly patted Damon's back. But when Sam felt Damon's lips press against his throat, he managed to shove the shorter boy off of him. He looked at Damon guardedly. 

 

"No." he said shaking his head. "Not now. Not ever again."

 

"Why?" Damon asked. "You can't fucking tell me that that didn't feel good, Sammy. That it only ever felt good."

 

Sam took a calming breath. It was no use denying that his heart hadn't increased a few beats when he'd felt Damon's lips against his neck. But he knew better than to let Damon in now. 

 

"You're right," he said. "It did feel good. Right up until you hit pledge week." Sam too another deep breath and went on,"You made it real clear that you think the fraternity is more important.Now piss off. We need to get to class." Sam made to move passed Damon to the door, but he barely got an inch passed him when the blonde boy shoved him roughly up against the wall, holding him by his shoulders. Although shorter than Sam by a few inches, Damon had more muscle definition and Sam hadn't eaten much. He knew he could probably push Damon away again, but a part of him didn't want too. That one part of him that still clung to whatever it was they'd had at the beginning of the school year was kind of enjoying this. And when Damon's hand found it's way to the front of Sam's jeans, he moaned softly. 

 

This was the part he missed. Damon was full of passion, which was probably why he was always joking around and acting on impulse. But just being near someone like this, having a reminder of what he and Dean had once shared. He and Natalie had never even made out. They barely kissed. Damon's hand rubbed the bulge forming rapidly at the front of Sam's pants and he leaned his head back against the wall allowing Damon access to his throat. He didn't care anymore. All that Damon had put him through, it didn't matter as long as he could feel like this again, even for a moment. 

 

He heard the bell ring from across campus. 

 

_No_ his mind screamed, _don't fucking do this to yourself again!_

 

Sam leaned away from Damon and gently pushed his hand away from his crotch. He shook his head. Damon stared at him in wide eyed confusion, his baby blues reminiscent of the person he used to be. Then he slammed a fist on the wall behind Sam's had. 

 

"Fuck." he swore. "Why are you doing this, huh?"

 

Sam maneuvered himself away from Damon. 

 

"Because you're an asshole." Sam said simply. "You used to be real great, Damon. And then you went through turned all frat boy on me. I don't know what the fuck your problem is but you changed. So, no."

 

As Sam walked towards the door Damon called out, "You're a fucking cocktease, Sam! You know that!"

 

"Whatever." Sam muttered, pushing the door open and hurrying to his seat before Professor Wexler could call him out for being late. A moment later, Damon clambered in and took the seat behind Sam. For the first portion of the class, Sam could feel the other boy's eyes burning into the back of his head. Brenda, who sat next to him and beside Natalie, kept shooting him furtive looks. Damn her intuition.

 

William Wexler was a small, thin man with a pointed face that resembled a goat, made more evident by his grey goatee. His beady eyes and general demeanor were enough to keep a class attentive, mostly because most of them were slightly put off by him. Brenda had once compared him to Freddy Krueger due to his jovial creepiness. He wasn't exactly one of those strict disciplinarians. He tolerated joking as long as it was harmless and didn't disrupt the class too much. The fact that they all had to sit for three hours while he droned on about folklore was not lost on him. 

 

Sam found him interesting. His fascination with sub-cultures and folklore reminded Sam of a grandfather for some reason. Having never known his own grandparents, Sam sometimes thought that his grandfather must have been like Wexler, but a little more masculine.

 

"Yesterday," Wexler said, turning on the projector, "we wrapped up general early American folklore. Today we're going to start on something much more complex." He clicked a button on the slide showed a young woman on a telephone with a rather intimidating man peering at her from the stairs behind her. "The urban legend," Wexler continued, "something that can be traced to the late fifties in popularity but has it's origins rooted in early cultural fears associated with modernization." 

 

He gave the class a knowing look from under his glasses. "How many of you bothered to even skin through the book I assigned?" Most of the class raised their hands. Wexler looked genuinely surprised. "Really? Was that before or after the unfortunate news about Michelle Mancini's death?"

 

The students gave each other uncomfortable looks. Sam glanced at Brenda who shook her head. Of course the class had probably only cracked the spine of the book after hearing about the details of Michelle's murder. Sam himself had only looked through it that very morning.

 

"Naturally," Wexler continued, "the manner of the murder is most...unusual. It follows the Killer in the Back Seat legend." He clicked the button again and the slide changed to the illustration on the cover of the book the students had. Sam shifted uncomfortably. Knowing how Michelle had died and having dreamed of it was incredibly unsettling. He noticed Natalie looked uncomfortable as well and thought back to what Brenda had suggested about Natalie knowing Michelle. 

 

"Who can tell what they know about this legend?" Wexler asked the class at large. For some reason Sam felt himself raising his hand. Wexler searched the smattering of raised arms before settling his gaze on the front row and nodding at Sam. "Mr. Winchester. Enlighten us if you'd be so kind." 

 

Sam took a deep breath and prepared to rattle off what he knew when he heard the door open. Some last minute straggler must have just entered the class. Wexler peered into the back row and frowned.

 

"It seems we have a visitor." he said. Sam was about to turn to look when Wexler said, "Please, Sam. Begin."

 

"Well," Sam started, "it's usually a woman driving in her car late at night on an empty highway. She notices she's out of gas so she pulls into a gas station. The person working there creeps her out, and he comes back from trying to pay for her gas and tells her that her credit card has been denied and the company wants to talk to her. So she follows him and when he locks the door, she freaks out and runs back to the car and drives away before he can tell her that there's somebody in the back seat. When she's away from the gas station the murderer strikes and kills her." 

 

The class was silent, their eyes on Sam. He turned to see Brenda looking at him with her eyebrows raised. A glance backwards showed him Damon sitting there looking slightly surprised. Even Professor Wexler was giving him a curious stare. 

 

"At least...that's what I heard." Sam finished lamely. 

 

Professor Wexler nodded. "An admirable summary, Mr. Winchester. However, most of the legends end with the attendant locking the woman in the gas station and telling her that he saw somebody in the back seat. She is not harmed. But in light of last night's tragedy, I assume many of you are under the impression that the legend has a much more grisly ending." Wexler's eyes lingered momentarily on Sam who felt very rattled. He felt like he'd told the contents of the vision he'd had last night rather than the actual urban legend. He knew that none of the others were aware of his...ability, but the fact that he'd described it so well must have unsettled them. 

 

"Of course," Wexler continued, "this is only a prime example of how urban legends are impacted by society. They change with the times and events that mirror them. Now," he pressed the button again and the slide changed back to the young woman on the phone. "This is another popular one. A young woman is babysitting alone and begins receiving threatening phone calls, not aware that the person responsible is calling from another line inside the house from the room of the child she is supposed to be taking care of. The moral here speaks to many young women. Mothers, mind your children are harm will come your way."

 

"Maybe the moral is don't babysit." Brenda muttered to Sam and Natalie, both of whom giggled without realizing it. Professor Wexler heard them and turned to give Brenda a knowing look from behind his wire framed glasses. 

 

"Ms. Bates." he said. "I'll need your help for this next one."

 

Brenda's eyes widened and she looked to Sam and Natalie for help. When neither of them came to her aid, she sighed heavily and got up, standing next to Wexler in front of the class. He handed her small plastic pouch, which she regarded with apprehension. 

 

"Can you tell me what these are?" he asked her. 

 

"Pop Rocks." Brenda said, eying the candy nervously. 

 

"Have some." Wexler said. Brenda gave him an apprehensive look and did not take the bag right away. "Don't worry," Wexler said with a small chuckle, "I'm sure you'll survive." There was a general laugh from the class. Brenda rolled her eyes, took the Pop Rocks and opened the bag, pouring some into her hand and then putting them in her mouth. 

 

"Now," Wexler went on, reaching to the side of the projector and handing her a can of Cola. "Why don't you try some?"

 

"I don't think so." Brenda said, her mouth still full of the fizzy candy.

 

"Why not?" Wexler pressed.

 

"Supposedly," Brenda continued, "if you take Pop Rocks and soda it makes your, like, intestines and stomach explode." 

 

"How do you know?" Wexler went on. "Did it happen to anyone?"

 

"Duh," Brenda said, "Mikey. From the Life Cereal commercials. Give it to Mikey, he'll it anything."

 

Wexler clicked the slide once more and the slide changed to a grinning boy in front of a bowl of Life cereal. 

 

"What if I told you," Wexler went on, changing the slide once more to a smiling middle aged man, "that this was Mikey. Thirty five years old and living in Buffalo as an advertising executive. Would you take the soda then?"

 

Brenda shook her head. 

 

"I'll take it!" Damon called out. He hopped down into Brenda's seat and then scrambled forward. "I'm not afraid to die!" 

 

"Really?" Brenda muttered. 

 

"You're very brave Mr. Brooks." Wexler said, ignoring Brenda's aside. 

 

"It's just an urban legend, isn't it?" Damon said with a wise ass grin.

 

"I'm sure that's exactly what Michelle Mancini thought." Brenda muttered. Sam saw Natalie's eyes widen with surprise. 

 

Damon gave Brenda his trademark goofy grin and then took the Pop Rocks from her. He gulped the rest of the candy and then took the soda from Wexler. He downed it in one and then stood there nodding, his eyes fixed on Sam who suddenly felt himself growing increasingly uncomfortable. 

 

"It's good." he said, his mouth full of candy and cola. 

 

Brenda rolled her eyes.

 

"You see," Wexler said, "absolutely nothing to fear-

 

Damon stumbled forward making a gagging sound. He grabbed the front of Brenda's shirt and toppled over, discolored foam dribbling from his mouth. The entire class was sitting back in their seats, horrified. Sam's eyes went wide with mingled fear and disbelief. Surely this couldn't be happening. Killers in the back seats of cars was one thing but Pop Rocks and soda? That was plain impossible. Unless of course the soda hadn't really been soda. Brenda's comment about Wexler's timing of the urban legend class in correlation with Michelle Mancini's murder suddenly took on a whole new meaning and Sam looked to Wexler with a new sense of dread. 

 

Damon was on the floor now, his body twitching, green liquid spilling over the sides of his mouth. Brenda screamed and Wexler looked completely aghast. Even though Damon was a complete dick, he didn't deserve to have his intestines and stomach explode, not in front of the entire class at any rate. Sam couldn't move, he like the rest of the class, was frozen to his seat. He didn't want this to happen, no matter how much Damon had pissed him off. He was still wrestling with that increasingly small part of him that wanted Damon back.

 

"Somebody call 911!" he finally shouted. 

 

He heard someone thundering down the stairs before Brenda yelled "WAIT!"

 

The entire class was deathly still, staring forward at Damon, who was flat on the ground. His shirt was covered in the soda-Pop Rock mixture and his eyes were wide and staring. Brenda leaned down and stared at him intently, her brow furrowed. Then...

 

"You bastard!" she said angrily, kicking him in the side. 

 

Damon gave a whoop of laughter and sat up, smiling at the class. Those present who had the same maturity level as Damon laughed too, but most of them were staring at him in disgust and muttering darkly at his twisted sense of humor. 

 

"Aw c'mon," Damon said, getting to his feet, "that was funny."

 

Wexler rolled his eyes. "Thank you for that demonstration Mr. Brooks." Wexler said wearily. "You better go back to your seat before Ms. Bates makes _you_ an urban legend."

 

Brenda glanced sideways at Damon, her expression dark. She stroked the chain around her neck before giving Damon a shot to the shoulder with her small fist. The two returned to their seats and the class settled down. Sam shook his head at Damon as he went back to his desk, and Damon smiled at him with that infuriatingly charming grin. Sam turned to give him a glare and instead found himself looking to the back seat of the classroom where the last minute straggler was sitting.

 

It wasn't a student. 

 

The person who had come in late and then thundered down the stairs during Damon's little episode wasn't a tardy student after all. It was a tall, well built young man, older than most of the students present but not by much. His mossy green eyes met Sam's from the back of the room and he gave him a wry smile that Sam had seen so many times before. The smile he'd been both praying to see and also never have to look upon again. He couldn't believe it. How the hell could _he_ be here? 

 

Dean ran a hand through his sandy blonde hair. 

 

"Meet me after class." he mouthed at Sam. 

 

Sam turned and sat in his seat, staring straight ahead, still not believing his eyes. But there was no denying it. Dean was here.

 

This couldn't mean anything good.


	3. Lover's Lost

  
Author's notes: **Sam confronts Dean after class and learns a surprising fact about Dean's life after Sam ran away. Sorry for the delay.**  


* * *

It took all of Sam's concentration not to look back at Dean for the remainder of the three hour class. Wexler prattled on about urban legends while most of the class listened attentively. Clearly Michelle Mancini's death had piqued their interest in the subject. On any given day, Sam would have been paying as much attention to Wexler's lecture as he possibly could. He enjoyed the class, and having had that vision last night he was keen on learning as much as he could about urban legends. 

 

But now that he knew that Dean was here, _actually here_ he felt it increasingly difficult to be fully tuned in to Wexler's explanation of urban legends detailing cultural admonitions. Once or twice, he glanced back to where Dean was sitting, just to make sure that he really was there and that Sam, through some psychological defect, hadn't merely imagined his older brother's presence. But Dean was there, no denying it. He seemed to be paying more attention to Wexler's lecture than Sam was and a suspicion as to why his brother was there in the first place formed in Sam's mind.

 

_Of course,_ he thought bitterly, _one tiny little urban legend style murder and he probably thinks there's an ancient entity at the foot of it._ Despite his initial shock and anger at Dean being at Stanford, he couldn't help but feel a little put out upon coming to this conclusion. He'd been hoping that Dean was there for him, although he didn't quite know why. He half laughed at his own stupidity for thinking that his brother, rife with worry at the news of a murder at Stanford, had come careening through the dark, stormy night like Sir Lancelot to the rescue. Dad had probably told him to come up here and handle the situation, maybe to even try and reason with Sam. 

 

_And after just about nine months there's not a snowball's chance in hell that I'm letting that happen_ ,Sam reassured himself as the bell for the end of class rang. 

 

"Remember," Wexler told the students as they alighted from their desks, "I want you to really read that book tonight. Try and get a better understanding about how urban legends affect our culture."

 

"They're certainly affecting it now." Brenda muttered, gathering her things and ignoring the scathing look Natalie gave her. "Someone out there must have been really attentive in Wexler's seminar last year." She glanced up at the back row and suddenly her whole demeanor changed. She stood up straighter, a smile playing over her lips, her eyes sparkling with the kind of interest Sam had only ever seen her reserve for Paul. 

 

"Who is that?" she asked. 

 

"Who's who?" Sam replied, knowing full well who she was talking about but giving the chance of him being wrong the benefit of the doubt.

 

"That tall glass of water at the back of the room. I think he's looking at me!" Brenda suddenly looked very excited and shook her bushy hair away from her eyes. 

 

Sam sighed inwardly and then shook his head, deciding to throw caution to the winds.

 

"Tall guy? Lean muscular look? Dirty blonde hair with freckles and eyes the color of moss?" 

 

"Yeah," Brenda answered, looking at him in surprise. "Do you know him?"

 

"If he's wearing layers then he's my older brother." Sam tugged his book bag over his shoulder, ignoring Brenda's look of shock. "Want to join me for lunch, Nat?"

 

Natalie shook her head. "Sorry. I'm going to go see Paul about something." Casting Sam an apologetic look, she stood up and hastily exited the room. Brenda was too distracted taking in Dean to pay much attention to what Natalie had just said. Sam rolled his eyes. He knew Dean wanted to talk and he'd rather speak to him in private than with Brenda tagging along and ogling him. 

 

"Brenda, I think your best friend is making a move on your man." Sam said idly. Most of the students had left the class by now, with the exception of himself, Brenda, Damon and Dean. Wexler, who was putting away the slide projector, gave the remaining stragglers a curious stare and Sam felt keener than ever to get out of the building and talk to Dean.

 

"What?" Brenda said distractedly, looking around. "Hey, where's Natalie?"

 

"Most likely going to the newsroom." Sam said. Brenda's eyes widened and then she hastily pulled her sweater over her tank top, muttering something about hos over bros. She gave Dean on last look of interest before dashing out of the class. Shaking his head, Sam slung his book bag over his shoulder and made to leave when Damon stopped him. Out of the corner of his eye, Sam saw Dean's body tense. Years of being a hunter had given him the somewhat innate ability to read body language, and there was so much simmering tension between Damon and Sam that you didn't need to have a license to kill demons to see it. 

 

"Sorry for that little stunt." Damon said and Sam was surprised the see that he both looked and sounded sincere. The soda and Pop Rock mixture had dried on his shirt, making the fabric sticky and greenish. It must have sucked sitting in class for three hours with that kind of crap drying on you. Then again, Damon had brought it on himself. 

 

Sam shrugged. "You got your fifteen minutes." he made to move passed Damon, but the shorter boy put his arm on Sam's shoulder. Sam saw Dean sitting up straighter in his seat, watching the two of them intently, ready to strike if necessary. Luckily for everybody involved, that would not be something Dean would have to resort too. 

 

"Look," Damon said, looking Sam square in the eyes, "I know you think I'm the world's biggest dickhead right now..."

 

"Universe's biggest dickhead is more like it." Sam interjected. 

 

"But," Damon went on as though he hadn't heard Sam, "there's a lot I'd like to talk to you about, okay? Will you just give me that for now?"

 

Sam looked into those blue-grey eyes and felt his resolve weakening. This could very well be another one of Damon's attempts to get with him again. But then again, he might actually have something to say. And God damn it if Sam didn't still have feelings for Damon, no matter how much of a colossal asshole he'd become. Sam glanced at Dean quickly. He thought of Dean's reaction to learning that Sam and Damon had been doing the horizontal tango together more than once at the beginning of the year. Would Dean even care? Would he be jealous? Hell, it would give Sam satisfaction to see how Dean would react once he learned that Sam was doing fine without him and Dad. Well...as fine as he could be. Looking back at Damon's imploring gaze, Sam felt the last of his defenses shatter. 

 

"Okay," he said with a soft smile. "Not now though. I've got...another appointment."

 

Damon glanced at Dean and nodded. "Alright. Come by the frat house tonight around eight. We'll talk then."

 

"Don't make me regret this Damon." Sam told him warningly. In answer, Damon gave him his usual goofy grin and then turned and followed Brenda out of the class, the door banging ominously closed behind him and echoing through the empty classroom like a gunshot. Still by his seat in the front row, Sam looked up at his older brother who had gotten to his feet and was looking down at him with what could only be described as awkward expectation. 

 

"Mr. Winchester?" Wexler asked behind him. "Can I help you with something."

 

Not turning around, Sam shook his head. Taking a deep steadying breath, he mounted the steps to the door, completely ignoring Dean as he passed. He felt rather than saw his older brother follow him and did not turn to look at him or even acknowledge his presence until they were out of the psych building. He marched across the green, feeling Dean follow him, ignoring the calls of students he passed. He marched across the campus over to the bell tower, where he proceeded to mount the rickety old staircase to the top floor where the big bells swayed ominously overhead, creaking in the slight breeze. As they walked, Sam felt his anger mounting. How the fuck could Dean just come here and expect everything to be worked out? Did he even want to work anything out? What if he'd gotten involved with someone else?

 

_You mean just like you did?_ the rational part of his brain said. 

 

He stood against the railings of the balcony that overlooked this area of the school, his eyes turned to the sky. He didn't know what he felt. The walk over here had served to build up his ire at Dean, but he knew the moment he turned around and looked into those big green eyes, he'd lose all of his resolve, much the same way he'd done with Damon back at class. What was it about eyes that always got to him?

 

"Sam..." Dean said tentatively. 

 

His voice...Oh God, his voice. Sam had been longing to hear it for so long. Taking a deep breath, he turned, prepared to unleash holy hell on his brother. But when he finally stood and faced Dean and saw him looking so anxious, saw the small hope in his eyes, Sam's anger vanished. He rushed at Dean, throwing his arms around his big brother and holding him like he was going to fly into the atmosphere at any moment. To his immense relief, Dean did not pull way. He wrapped his strong arms around Sam and held him tightly, the way he had all those years ago when they'd first taken that one big step over the wall of brotherly love and into the realm of something much more intimate. 

 

"God, Dean..." Sam whispered, inhaling the scent that was his older brother: leather, aftershave and sweat. The smell he wished he could bottle up and hang onto forever. His body shaking, Sam let his head fall on Dean's shoulder and was relieved when Dean did not object to the show of affection. Despite the anger that had been rising in him since class, he couldn't help but completely get lost in Dean's embrace. As angry as he'd been, he couldn't help but face the truth. He'd missed Dean. And now that he was here, Sam felt months of stress roll off of him like water off a duck's back.

 

He looked up into Dean's eyes and was shocked to feel tears spilling down his own. Dean had always had a better grip on his emotions than Sam...or at least that's what Sam had thought. He of all people knew that behind Dean's rough, macho exterior there was a sensitive soul. Not that Dean would ever admit to that. 

 

"You look good Sam." Dean said with a smile. 

 

Sam grinned, wiping at his eyes. "You too."

 

For a moment the two brothers just stood getting a good look at each other. Although it had only been eight months since Sam had least seen Dean, he was alarmed to see just how tired and care worn his older brother looked. There were dark circles under his eyes and his jaw was peppered with unshaven stubble. His leather jacket hung looser off his frame than it had the last time Sam had seen him. Had his leaving really had that much of an impact on him?

 

Dean grinned nervously. "You alright?" Dean asked, his voice rife with concern. 

 

Sam blinked. "Yeah. Just happy to see you is all."

 

Dean nodded, looking like he was stealing himself to say something. He bit his lower lip. "It's just...I heard about that girl...that Mancini girl...and I thought maybe you needed help."

 

Sam blinked again, his heart sinking. Of course Dean was only here because of the murder. He hadn't come here to see him at all. Mentally kicking himself, Sam assumed a tone of nonchalance and said, "Oh," not meeting Dean's eyes. 

 

Dean cocked his head to the side. 

 

"What's wrong, Sam?" he asked. 

 

"Nothing." Sam said a little more firmly than he meant too. He felt the anger prickling his insides again and took another deep breath, looking up at the large bronze bells swinging overhead. 

 

"Bullshit." Dean said. "You're pissed about something, so spill."

 

"Why bother?" Sam said, finally looking Dean in the eye, his own blazing angrily. "It's not going to change your mind."

 

"What the fuck Sam?" Dean looked surprised. "Don't be like that. There's something wrong and I wanna help." 

 

"Great." Sam muttered. "After how many fucking months of not even answering the phone when I just wanted to hear your voice you suddenly show up. Maybe, just maybe I wanted you to be hear for something else."

 

Dean looked down, his eyes bright. 

 

"Sammy." he said softly.

 

"Don't call me that." Sam snapped. "You lost the right to call me that after you beat the shit out of me for nothing." 

 

Dean looked back up at his brother, his eyes pained at the memory. Had he been trying to forget it this whole time? Sam had, but the extent of the emotional and physical damage had been too much for him to just sweep under the rug. There were still nights when he would dream of that day back in August when Dean had freaked out on him after Sam had pushed him to finally move out. Even in his dreams he felt the sting of Dean's punches, the mental anguish that he'd felt when his brother and lover had turned and walked out of the motel, leaving Sam on the floor broken and crying. He'd packed his bags that night and left for Stanford, having gotten the admission letter earlier that week. He'd ignored it in the hopes that Dean would find a place for them away from John. Just another wish that had come crashing down around his ears. 

 

"Sam..." Dean said, his voice breaking, "you've got no fucking idea how much I hate myself for what I did." Sam's glare softened slightly when he saw the regret in his brother's eyes. "I know this might not mean a lot now," Dean continued, "but I've never forgiven myself, not for one fucking second, for what I did to you that night. When I got back to the motel and saw you were gone...I just...I lost it. I cried like a baby Sammy. I couldn't believe what I'd made you do. That I'd pushed you away. But it happened. And...and I'd like to start over...if that's okay."

 

Dean wasn't looking at Sam now. He was staring out over the quad as the bells swayed in the breeze, his eye's bright with unshed tears. Sam looked down at the wooden floorboards, his mind and heart racing. Dean was being sincere. He'd always been able to tell when Dean was just bullshitting and when he really meant what he said. And this...this was most definitely one of those times. Taking a deep breath, Sam placed a hand on Dean's shoulder, rubbing it softly. 

 

"Dean," he said quietly, "I...thank you for saying that. It...it really means a lot to me."

 

Dean said nothing. Dean was only ever good with the emotional stuff when Sam was around, but even then he still felt a need to maintain that wall of machismo. Finally he nodded and looked over at Sam, smiling. 

 

"I didn't just come here for the murder, y'know." Dean said. "I wanted to see you. Really. I missed you baby."

 

Sam's eyes widened and Dean's did the same. He hadn't called Sam baby in months. The sheer fact that he'd used this endearment seemed to resonate with both of them and they locked eyes, stormy green meeting icy blue. In Dean's eyes, Sam was able to see the fear and hope and regret that Dean was trying so hard to hide. He sighed. He didn't want to be angry at his brother anymore, but the pain was still there, and the memory was etched into his mind. 

 

He sighed. 

 

"Dean," he said softly, "I'm happy that you're here. Happier than I'm letting on right now. But it's just...hard, y'know? I still want you more than anything and you made it really clear what you think of us and what he had. But I'll never, ever forget it and as much as I've tried moving on I can't and I won't." He inhaled deeply. "I'm not telling you to fuck off or anything. Having you here...it makes a lot of this easier. And I know that you also wanna get to the bottom of that murder. So I'll help. But I'll be God damned if I'm going to try and bury how I'll feel. Because whatever you may think, I know it's not wrong. I've never felt wrong about it." Sam leaned against the railing next to the staircase and looked back up at the bells. He knew lunch hour was going to be over soon and he had a study period next.

 

Dean stood motionless for a moment, staring at Sam, his eyes incredibly focused, his face an unreadable mask. After several moments of silence, he sighed and straightened up. 

 

"Okay Sammy." he said, the habit of referring to Sam as such still not broken. "I understand."

 

Sam looked up at Dean and grinned, nodding. 

 

"We better get out of here." Sam said. "The bell's going to ring soon and I'd rather keep my hearing."

 

Dean nodded and the two of them descended the rickety wooden staircase and made it out of the bell tower just in time for the bell to ring signaling the end of lunch hour. 

 

"How'd you get here so fast?" Sam asked Dean as they started across the green together. 

 

"I drove." Dean said with a wise ass grin. Sam rolled his eyes. 

 

"Seriously though. Most people didn't find out about the murder until this morning." Sam pressed. "It'd be kind of hard to get here from Idaho in fourteen hours without magic."

 

"Idaho?" Dean arched an eyebrow. "Who says I was in Idaho?"

 

"But that's where..." Sam trailed off and mentally smacked himself for being so naive. Idaho was where they'd been when he'd ran away. The chances of Dean and John remaining there were virtually non-existent. Hunting kept them on the move, just one of the many things Sam resented about his family's calling. "Where were you then?" Sam asked. 

 

"Redding." Dean answered, lowering his voice as they ducked into the library where Sam checked in for Study Hall. Sam tried very hard to ignore the lustful glances that were being thrown Dean's way. 

 

"Redding!?" He hissed in complete shock. Redding was only four hours away from Stanford. "Why the hell didn't you visit if you were that close?"

 

"Keep your voice down, dude." Dean said, shooting the librarian a furtive glance. "I've only been in Redding for a week. I was planning on visiting when I heard on the early morning news about that Michelle Mancini."

 

Sam glanced sideways at Dean as they found a secluded corner in Stanford's expansive old library. Dean had been planning on visiting him? He wasn't just here for the murder then. Sam smiled faintly as the thought helped to alleviate some of the tension he felt. 

 

"I had to...bend the rules of the road to make it here as fast as I did." Dean said. Sam chuckled. Dean couldn't drive fifty-five. Not in his beloved Impala. Thinking of the big black beauty that was Dean's second love, Sam said, "How long had you been on campus before you went to my class?" 

 

"Long enough to find out where the hell you were." Dean answered. "I jumped out of the car and pretty much tackled one of the security officers and asked where I could find you. Had to show them my license just to prove we were actually related."

 

_He wanted to see me so bad_ Sam thought, digging the urban legend book out of his bag, _He wanted to make sure that I was safe._ He could've smiled at that thought, but then that little nagging voice at the back of his head said, _That's only because he's your brother and nothing more._ Sam shook his head. He didn't want to pay that voice any more attention than was possible, but there was a point there. As far as Dean was concerned, they were brothers and that was as far is it would and could only ever go. 

 

Gritting his teeth, Sam handed Dean the book and watched as his older brother thumbed through it. Leaning back in his chair, Sam closed his eyes and tried hard not to think back to the day he'd run away. It had been warm, a bright August day thick with humidity and the threat of oncoming rain. John had gone out to research something or other related to their latest hunt and he and Dean had remained behind. 

 

Sam had suspected there was something up with Dean for a while. He'd seemed more tense than normal and whenever Sam so much as touched him, he would look away, his jaw set grimly. In the stupidity of his youth, Sam had hoped that nothing more would have come of it. But he'd been terribly wrong. The moment he'd mentioned leaving John, Dean had gotten riled up. What started as a simple disagreement about finally flying the nest turned into a full out fight in which Dean had given Sam an earful about what was wrong with the way they'd been for the passed three and a half years. It had blown up when Sam had touched on the subject of John, and the real problem being that Dean was too ashamed to walk away from under his father's thumb. Dean had thrown Sam through the coffee table for that. 

 

"Sam?" Dean's low concerned voice brought Sam back to the present with a jolt. 

 

"Yeah?" he said. 

 

"You okay?" Dean asked, looking at him from under those long eyelashes. Sam shook himself and realized he'd been holding the edge of the table in a white knuckle grip during his whole reminiscence. 

 

He nodded. "I'm fine, Dean." Dean gave him a look that clearly showed he wasn't buying it. Not wanting to disturb the mending peace between them, he sat forward in his chair and gestured to _The Encyclopedia of Urban Legends._ "What do you think?" Sam asked. 

 

Dean's gaze lingered on Sam for a fraction of a second before he turned back to the book. 

 

"Pretty cut and dry." he said. "The legend matches pretty much perfectly with the murder. Although your creepy professor had a point when he said that the legend usually ends with a less sticky fate for the woman." 

 

"Do you think it's demonic?" Sam asked in a hushed voice so that the people sitting nearby wouldn't hear. 

 

Dean shrugged. "It's hard to say. I mean I wouldn't rule it out at this point, but it's not like it's impossible for a human to do this. Just because urban legends never happened...

 

"Doesn't mean they never could." Sam finished, sitting back in his chair wearily. "Yeah. My friends and I already made that observation."

 

Dean arched an eyebrow, an impish grin curling his lips. "You have friends? Like...real friends or the ones in your head?"

 

"Shut up." Sam said with a tiny grin.

 

"Bitch." 

 

"Jerk."

 

Sam and Dean both grinned broadly at this exchange. _God I missed this._ Sam thought. Aloud he said, "The odds are pretty slim, you know. The killer would have had to have the upper hand on Michelle in every single aspect. When she would be traveling, where she would be going. And he'd have to know that she wouldn't check the back seat."

 

"And that she'd stop at a gas station." Dean added.

 

Sam shook his head. "That could just be a lucky but eerie coincidence. The killer could've just lucked out there."

 

"Which is a narrow chance when you think about it." Dean said. "Which is why it's not impossible for this to have been paranormal in anyway." 

 

"Witchcraft, demons...one of the two." Sam supplied. "Or maybe both. It wouldn't be too hard to invoke something. But that means the killer has a pretty damn good knowledge of the arcane, which would mean he's got some friends in low places."

 

Dean grinned. "What makes you think the killer's a guy?"

 

Sam shrugged. "Because that's usually the case in urban legends. It's always a male killer preying on a helpless female victim." Sam looked around the library and saw that most of the other students had their heads together and were talking in low hushed voices. He didn't have to guess what they were whispering about. Even though Michelle hadn't actually been attending Stanford, the manner of her murder was something that most people wouldn't be forgetting anytime soon. He frowned and thought of telling Dean about his vision, but thought better of it. The last thing he needed right now was Dean fussing over him. He needed to tough this out and see if he could stand just being brothers with Dean again. Any kind of emotional contact would just open the floodgates. 

 

"Why don't you phone Dad about it?" Sam suggested casually, trying hard to disguise the venom in his voice. To his surprise, Dean's face hardened and he looked away. "What’s wrong?" Sam asked, sitting forward and studying his brother carefully.

 

Dean ran his hand through his hair and then said bitterly, "I don't know how to get a hold of him."

 

"What?" Sam asked in surprise.

 

"He...he's not around Sam. He went off for a hunt months ago with a message telling me not to look for him and...and I haven't heard so much as a whisper from him since." Dean met Sam's gaze levelly, his eyes daring Sam to goad him for being wrong about his precious father's own departure. And, if Sam was being honest, he wanted to gloat at the news. He wanted to shove it in Dean's face that they needn't have worried about leaving John if he was going to up and leave only a few months later. But something in Dean's eyes stopped him. As much as Sam hated the man, he knew John was an important aspect of his older brother's life. Whatever resentment and bitterness Sam felt, he swallowed down. 

 

Putting a tentative hand over Dean's wrist, Sam gave his brother a supportive half-smile. "I'm sorry, Dean." he said quietly. 

 

Dean grinned furtively and placed his big, calloused hand over Sam's. "Thanks Sammy." he said just as softly. Their eyes met again. Sam felt himself getting lost in those mossy green pools and he blinked and forced himself to look away, screaming on the inside that he was strong enough for this and that even if he wasn't he wanted it too badly to give a damn anymore. But he had to look away. He didn't want to put himself or Dean through anymore, especially in light of this revelation about their father's disappearance. Grudgingly, he slid his hand out from under Dean's.

 

"Have you tried looking for him?" Sam asked. 

 

Dean nodded. "Yeah. But the trail's cold. I don't think he wants to be found. So...I gave up and made my way South. We were in Oregon when he left and...well, when he didn't show, I decided to come down here to see you and that's when this happened." He gestured at the book again. 

 

Sam bit his lip, not wanting to voice the obvious. How the hell did Dean know John was just taking a vacation? What if something had happened to him? 

 

_He wanted to see me_ that voice in his head thought, _just me. Not him. He was heading to see me instead of looking. That means he doesn't care anymore about Dad._

 

"Fuck." Sam hissed angrily, rubbing his forehead. 

 

"What's wrong?" Dean asked. When Sam shook his head, Dean rolled his eyes and said, "Bullshit, Sam. Something's bothering you, so just tell me."

 

"I already did." Sam said wearily. 

 

Dean looked at him from across the table and then looked around to make sure nobody was listening in. When he was sure they wouldn't be overheard, he leaned closer to Sam and sighed. "Sammy," he began, "you know that I'll always love you. But what we had...it was -

 

Sam got to his feet, a little more emphatically then he meant too. His chair tipped over and landed on the floor with a loud bang that made several people jump and look around in surprise. 

 

"Don't." he said, snatching the book from under Dean's nose and shoving it back into his bag. "Just don't, okay? I'm grateful that your here, Dean. And I already told you how I feel. So don't sit there and patronize me with stupid cliches." Sam swung his book bag over his shoulder and scribbled a note on an index card laying on the table. He shoved it under Dean's nose. "That's my dorm number. Come and find me when you've made your mind up. And check out the New Age section. That's the only place you can find info on the paranormal here." With that, he spun on his heel and marched out of the library, leaving Dean sitting there, staring down at the index card with a look of mingled confusion, anger and hurt on his handsome face.


	4. Lover's Lane

  
Author's notes: **Sam and Damon work out their issues but it may be too late. Some fun smexy stuff here. Not too much. But enough. And violence. Did I mention violence?**  


* * *

A part of him, the most juvenile part, prayed that Dean would follow him and tell him to stop, or even come knocking at the dorm room door. But none of these things happened. Sam did not have to meet Damon until eight that evening. He thought briefly of going to meet Natalie or maybe Brenda, but the two were probably off together doing their own thing. Sasha had the Parker and the radio show to deal with at night and Paul didn't come in at all. Sam guessed he was probably covering the murder like stink on a warthog. Having nothing better to do and not wanting to sit with his thoughts, he decided to study like crazy for his other subjects. He knew it was stupid to be mad at Dean for a simple statement of what was probably brotherly love. But in Sam's mind, they could never go back to being just brothers. They'd had something real and Dean had thrown it away. And if he gave the feelings he still harbored even the slightest inch then there would be no turning back from the detente in their relationship. Besides, there was still Damon to contend with. 

 

After hours of reading and note taking in his dorm room, Sam glanced over at the clock and saw that it was seven thirty. Sighing, he closed his books and took a quick shower, wondering what this meeting with Damon would bring.

 

The fraternity house was on the outer edge of the campus, just passed Stanley Hall. The sun had not yet gone down when Sam started out, reveling in the muffled noises of the late evening on the campus quad. The day's events had put him on edge and the last thing he needed was a confrontation with Dean again. From a distance, he spied the Impala on the front parking lot, but thankfully there was no sign of it's owner. 

 

The fraternity house was, like all frat houses, enormous, almost a manor house. It stood atop a small grassy knoll with a dusty drive way where all the expensive looking sports cars were parked. Behind the big yard with the pool there was a huge expanse of trees that lead to the surrounding forest where the frat boys usually held their bonfires and hazings. 

 

Sam hated the fraternity. Mostly because of Parker being a righteous ass and one of the most influential brothers, but also because of what it had done to Damon. Sam still felt a small twinge of pain in his chest when he remembered that hellish week when Damon had done a complete one eighty for the worst. But if he really wanted to patch things up...maybe it would help Sam forget about Dean the way it had done when Sam had first come to Stanford. 

 

As he approached the house as twilight settled in, he heard a chopping noise from around the side. Cocking his head, Sam cautiously approached the side of the house, trying to keep out of sight in case it was Parker. But it wasn't. It was Damon, swinging down on blocks of wood for the fireplace with a double bladed axe. His shirt was off, and the exterior lights of the house were casting Damon in an amber glow that only served to highlight his knotted muscles. Although not ripped like some of the other fraternity brothers, Damon's muscles were defined through hard natural labor rather than weight lifting, the same way Dean's were. He was covered in a fine layer of sweat and his gelled blonde hair shone brightly under the lights. For several moments, Sam simply stood there and watched him chop through the wood, the blade of the axe tearing through the logs without any trouble at all. 

 

_Like a blade through bone,_ Sam thought. He blinked, confused. What the hell had made him think that? Shaking his head, he strode forward and coughed quietly. Damon looked up mid-swing and grinned, dropping the axe and walking with a swagger over to Sam. Before Sam could so much as take a breath, Damon pulled him to his chest and crushed their lips together. Sam's eyes widened in surprise and he thought of pushing Damon away but before he could act on this notion, Damon's tongue touched his and Sam felt all the resistance drain out of him. 

 

_God damn it,_ he thought, _I need to stop letting my guard down so much._ He sank further into Damon's embrace, feeling the shorter boy's sweat against his own shirt. Sam moaned, still kissing Damon passionately. He didn't care anymore. Anything to help him try and forget about Dean. After several long moments of their tongues dancing together, Damon broke the kiss and grinned at Sam who was breathing heavily. 

 

"Hey." Damon said. 

 

Still breathless, Sam merely nodded. Damon let out a whoop of laughter and then ran a hand over his damp hair. 

 

"Sorry," he said, "I got carried away."

 

"Tell me about it." Sam murmured. Damon chuckled again.

 

"I'm going to hit the shower quickly and then we'll go." Damon said, turning and heading towards the back door of the house.

 

"Go?" Sam said bemused, "go where?"

 

Damon merely grinned in response and then headed inside. Shaking his head, Sam sat down on the stump used to chop the logs and looked around at the wood. His eye caught the double bladed axe which Damon had left outside. For some reason, it held his gaze and he felt that there was something significant about it, like he'd seen it before. Frowning, Sam leaned forward and looked closely at the blades, trying to figure out what it was about the axe that was so important. 

 

Then he remembered the vision he'd had last night. The crouching figure in the back of Michelle's car, the parka pulled so high that their face couldn't be seen and the flash of steel as the killer severed Michelle's head with the blade of lethal double bladed axe. 

 

Sam gasped audibly and got to his feet, staring at the thing in cold dread. No...this wasn't possible. 

 

It really wasn't, Sam realized with a near laugh. Paul had told him that morning that he'd seen Damon near Stanley Hall last night. There was no way he could be the killer. Shaking his head at his own stupidity, Sam turned and found himself face to face with Damon. He gasped in surprise and staggered backwards, only avoiding falling over the log thanks to a strong arm from Damon, who was looking at him like he'd just grown another head. 

 

"Jumpy much?" Damon said, helping Sam get his footing again. He'd changed into a white t-shirt with an orange vest and hadn't bothered gelling his hair after showering.

 

"Sorry." Sam said. "I guess I just...you startled me and...uh..the axe and...what's so funny?" Damon was chuckling, his eyes regarding Sam warmly. 

 

"Nothing," he said, shaking his head. "It's just cute the way you trip over yourself." 

 

Sam rolled his eyes but allowed a smile to pass his lips. Damon seemed to really be acting like his old self again. 

 

"C'mon," Damon said, turning and heading for the front of the house, "we're taking the car."

 

"You still haven't told me where we're going." Sam reminded him as they rounded the house and headed for the driveway where Damon's jeep was parked. 

 

"We're going to go cruise for hot babes." Damon said, a twinkle in his eye. 

 

"Do you even like girls Damon?" Sam asked him.

 

"Do you?" Damon shot back, giving Sam a sideways glance. Sam said nothing, but looked down at his feet as they reached the jeep. He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to see Damon gazing at him apologetically. "Hey...I didn't mean it like that Sammy."

 

Sam shook his head. "Don't worry about it. I kinda deserved it." 

 

Damon grinned and then motioned for Sam to get into the passenger seat. Sam did so, going around the jeep and buckling up his seat belt in silence. He knew very well that neither he nor Damon were interested in women in a romantic way. Not for the first time Sam wondered why he and Natalie were even considering themselves a couple. 

 

"You better not be taking me to Make Out Point." Sam said with a teasing grin as they pulled out of the driveway.

 

"Make Out Point, Lover's Lane, Contraception Overlook...it's all the same." Damon answered.

 

"So you are taking me there." Sam said with a dramatic sigh. He was surprised that he didn't mind. "But mother said that nice girls who go to Make Out Point always meet a nasty end." 

 

Damon chuckled. "It's not really Make Out Point when it comes to us, Sam. It's more like Anal Sex Cliff."

 

"Damon!" Sam yelped in disbelief. But he smiled. This was the old Damon back, the one who could crack a joke and still care about you. Not the egotistical frat boy who had to have everything his way. 

 

They rode in silence for the rest of the ride. Taking the right turn out of the campus led to the highway that bordered the woods. Sam knew where Damon was taking him. The clearing in the woods behind the frat house. If someone were to try and make it there from the campus it would take them the better part of an hour to find it. It was far enough in that it couldn't be seen from the fraternity house. This was why the brothers used it as the hazing site. The trek there would be a tough one for a blindfolded pledge. That and it would be a bitch for campus security to find and put a stop to any kind of illegal activities associated with twenty first century hazing. 

 

There was a small path from the highway that led into the woods. Sam didn't know how it had gotten there, but guessed that not all of the school faculty was in the dark about the clearing. The path was too perfect to have been made by a bunch of frat boys. In any event, it took Damon only twenty minutes to get from the frat pad to the clearing. By that time the sun had completely set and he had to use his headlights to navigate through the trees. In the dimness, the trees with their budding leaves looked skeletal. It made Sam shiver. 

 

The clearing itself was about the size of a swimming pool and set under a huge old oak tree with a large, sturdy branch that jutted out over the dust below. There were small potholes here and there from where fires had been lit and Sam wasn't surprised to see the odd beer can or condom littering the ground. Damon parked right under the branch and cut the engine. He undid his seat belt and Sam did too, thinking they were going to get out of the jeep, but when Damon's door did not open, Sam stopped and turned to look at the other boy. 

 

Damon took a deep breath and then ran his hand over his face. 

 

"This probably doesn't mean shit to you right now," he began, "but I'm sorry."

 

_How many times am I going to hear that today?_ Sam thought. 

 

"I know I've been a real dick since I joined the fraternity," Damon went on, "but I meant what I said earlier today. I miss you Sam. I miss what we had." 

 

Sam looked at Damon long and hard. He'd been expecting something like this and as much as he wanted to believe Damon, he had to make sure that this was real and not just an attempt to get into his pants. 

 

"You better mean that." Sam said.

 

"I do, Sam." Damon assured him.

 

"Really?" Sam said sarcastically. "You mean that getting drunk every weekend and having toga parties with Parker isn't important to you anymore? Or is this just an excuse to get your hand down my jeans?"

 

Damon looked at him, clearly stung by this. "I mean it Sam. I've been doing a lot of thinking lately and I just really miss you."

 

"Me or the sex?" Sam asked. 

 

Damon took a deep steadying breath. "Both." he said, his eyes meeting Sam's. 

 

"And what brought this on?" Sam asked him, tearing his eyes away from Damon's when he felt his defenses coming down again. He really needed to stop looking into people's eyes. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but the last time we spoke longer than five minutes you said that loyalty to the brothers was the most important thing to you."

 

Damon had the grace to look ashamed of himself. He stared out the windshield into the dark woods, resting his chin on his hand. For a long moment, he simply stared into the forest, his eyes distant.

 

"I don't think the answer's in the trees, Damon." Sam said. 

 

Damon sighed deeply. "I guess I should've expected this." he said softly. "What I did to you...it was cruel."

 

"You're telling me."

 

"I was a dumbass Sam." Damon continued as though he hadn't heard. "You know the shit that the frat pulls on pledges. They fucking brainwashed me into thinking that they were hot shit. But I've gotten real tired of them lately. Especially Parker. I'd say I don't know what the fuck gets into someone's head when they join a fraternity, but that would be a lie. I've been there. And for a long time I thought that the way they lived was what I wanted. But it's not. Beer bongs and toga parties and all that bullshit. It's not for me." A pained look passed over his boyish face and his voice shook slightly as he went on, "They tried setting me up with some sorority sister at one of those stupid parties."

 

"What?" Sam said, completely stunned.

 

Damon nodded. "Yeah. They were egging her on to suck me off in front of everyone and I...well, let's just say my package was useless when called upon. And most of the guys were real cool about it. Except Parker. He keeps making these little jibes about me being...about how I like...well...you get it."

 

Sam clenched his jaw angrily. Of course he got it. Given the type of person Parker was, it wasn't surprising to hear that he'd added royal homophobe to his list of blistering personality traits. That must be why he loved heckling Sam so much. He probably saw right through the facade that was Sam and Natalie's relationship. 

 

"How long ago did that happen?" Sam asked quietly. 

 

"January." Damon replied, still looking out the front of the car. 

 

Anger filled the pit of Sam's stomach. He and Damon had broken it off in early November, just after Damon had been made a full brother. It was April now. Damon had been living with this for months and Sam hadn't known. 

 

"Why didn't you tell me?" Sam asked softly. 

 

Damon shrugged. "You know me, Sam."

 

Yeah, Sam did know him. Damon was the Tom Fool of Stanford. He didn't like sharing his emotions unless he absolutely had too. Emotions were serious and Damon preferred to dance through life with a smile on his face and a spring in his step. Something like this...he probably tried to shake it off as often as he could. Then again, maybe Parker's snide remarks had caused something else to happen in Damon. In the face of adversity people had a tendency to deny the things about themselves they hated. Did that mean Damon hated being gay?

 

"It doesn't matter, you know." Sam said quietly. Damon finally turned to look at Sam, his eyes bright even in the darkness. "You...you like me...and that's great, Damon. It really is. And so what if Parker's being a prick about it? Who gives a fuck? There's no need to label what you feel if it destroys something that you can't live without...I should know." Sam thought of Dean and what they'd been through. He shook his head. This wasn't about Dean. This was about Damon, who was now smiling softly at Sam. 

 

"Then...can we...try again?" Damon asked quietly, not meeting Sam's gaze. 

 

Sam smiled softly at the blonde. 

 

"Yeah," he said, "I'd like that. Just...don't make me regret okay? If you do I'll chop your balls off and hang them from the flagpole." 

 

Damon laughed. "Kinky." he said smiling. Sam chuckled. This was really happening. He could forget about Dean now, although a small part was still holding onto him.

 

_What is wrong with me?_ Sam thought, _I've got to be the most indecisive person in the country._

 

Damon grinned at him and closed the distance between them in the confined space of the front of the jeep. He captured Sam's lips in a soft kiss that caused Sam's eyes to flutter. Damon gently pushed him back in his seat so that he was leaning against the door with the shorter boy over him. They kissed long and deep, their lips seeming to be pulled together magnetically. 

 

"I wanted you back for so long." Damon whispered when their lips finally parted. "Not just for this...but...as a friend. I'd have settled for that too."

 

Sam smiled up at him. "There's no way we could've been friends Damon. You're too handsome."

 

"Damn straight." Damon said with a grin. He reached behind him and fiddled with the radio. 

 

" _...once again, police have Michael McDonnell in custody after a long investigation into the tragic murder of Michelle Mancini which took place..._ Damon hastily switched stations, rolling his eyes at the report. 

 

_"...so let me get this straight",_ it was Sasha's voice now. Damon had switched to the campus radio station. _"You had yourself a little frat boy shake and now you think you need your stomach pumped?"_ Another voice replaced Sasha's, a girl's voice. She sounded ill. _"Yes, Sasha. It's so gross. I think I feel them swimming around in my stomach..."_

 

"Oh ew." Sam said, making a face. "How the hell can she stand getting calls from idiots like that?"

 

Damon shrugged, shutting the radio off and then kissing Sam's forehead softly. 

 

"She's interesting." he said. Then he grinned impishly and leaned closer to Sam, putting his lips against his ear and whispering, "Do you want a frat boy shake right now Sammy?"

 

Sam rolled his eyes. "Now, now. I told you. I'm a respectable boy. I'm not just going to give it all away." 

 

Damon began kissing Sam's neck, unzipping his jacket as he did so and rubbing his hands over Sam's chest. "Don't be a tease." Damon said with a fake whine. 

 

Laughing, Sam leaned his head back and closed his eyes, reveling in Damon's kisses. This was so surreal. This whole day had been surreal. From the vision to Dean arriving to right now. It was like some kind of weird dream that he was only half looking forward to waking from. As Damon lifted the hem of Sam's shirt up and placed kisses on his bare chest, Sam felt himself losing all common sense. Dean being at Stanford now meant nothing. Michelle Mancini's eerie murder wasn't important anymore. They'd caught the killer. It would be fine. Damon's hand slid into the front of Sam's jeans and he arched into the other boy's hand. Everything would be fine...

 

He could forget about urban legends and Dean...Dean...urban legends...

 

_Dean!_ Sam's mind screamed. 

 

Sam's eyes snapped open, all languidness gone. His mind seemed to be running to catch up with his senses. He was making out with Damon in a secluded spot where people normally went to neck. 

 

_Lover's Lane..._

 

"Damon..." Sam said, trying to ignore how good it felt to have Damon touching him like this. 

 

"Please, Sammy..." Damon whispered, his hand cupping Sam through his boxers. Sam groaned, his body wanting this, craving it with a burning need. But his mind was singing a different tune. Even if the cops said they'd hauled in Michelle's killer, the circumstances of where they were right now were just too close to urban legend territory. 

 

_Think!_ Sam thought as Damon unbuckled Sam's belt while still kissing him everywhere he could get his lips. _Lover's Lane...oh God that feels so...no...Lover's Lane...radio report...killer...there's something that happens now...fuck I can't help it...he's got me hooked completely...hooked...hook!_ Sam strained his ears to hear any sort of scratching noise against the side of the car door, but he couldn't hear anything except the sounds of his and Damon's heavy breathing. The windows of the jeep were fogging up fast and he doubted he'd be able to see anything that could potentially be watching them. 

 

Damon's fingers were inching their way towards the waistband of Sam's boxers and he knew that once that line was crossed he'd forget about anything else. Sam's mind seemed to be in a million different places. Here in the car, out there where something could be waiting to make him and Damon urban legends and, he hated to admit it, back at the campus where he was sure Dean was most likely sleeping in the Impala. 

 

Damon stopped, his breath hitching in his throat. He looked down, averting his eyes from Sam's gaze. 

 

"Is something wrong?" Sam asked. 

 

Damon took a steadying breath. 

 

"This is so not fair." he said angrily. 

 

"What?"

 

"I...I have to piss." he said sheepishly. Sam could've laughed. 

 

"That's fine. Just go find a tree and I'll wait." 

 

"But it'll kill the mood." Damon said looking frustrated. 

 

"Damon, it’s fine. Just step out quickly and then come back."

 

"Are you sure it's okay?" Damon asked, looking at Sam searchingly. Why the hell was he taking this so hard?

 

"Damon, go. It's better than you going in here." Damon chuckled and then placed one last kiss on Sam's nose before he scrambled out of the jeep and into the night. Sam sat up straighter and watched him walk off, feeling stupid for worrying again. They'd caught the killer. It had said so on the radio. He and Damon were fine. Better than fine as soon as Damon finished up and got his sweet ass back in the car. 

 

Sitting up straight, Sam turned on the radio and made a face when he heard the theme from Dawson's Creek playing. God he hated that show and anyone stupid enough to be on it. He sat there in silence, waiting for Damon. He waited...and waited...what the hell was taking Damon so long? Even if he'd had a gallon of water before going out there was no way it would take him this long to relieve himself. 

 

Sam peered into the darkness, annoyed. Nearly fifteen minutes had gone by since Damon had left the car. 

 

"Damon," he said loudly, "if you're not back here in another minute I swear to God I'm leaving you out here and taking your jeep." 

 

Still nothing. 

 

"You better not be pulling something." Sam said, his mind reeling at the though that this had all just been a practical joke at his expense. What if the fraternity was hiding in the bushes with a camera or something? Frowning at this thought, Sam opened the door of the jeep and stepped out into the night air. It was colder out here then he expected. The sharp, spring air hit his skin, making him shiver and he realized that he hadn't bothered to zip up his jacket or buckle his belt. After correcting this glaring mistake, Sam peered around into the trees and felt a new kind of cold wash over him. 

 

Dread. 

 

"Damon!" he yelled, his voice echoing in the woods, adding to the sense of isolation. 

 

_I'm getting out of here,_ Sam thought, _I need to get help._

 

He half-jogged around the jeep, intending to dive into the driver's seat. When he rounded the corner of the car he stopped dead. 

 

Someone was watching him, not even ten feet in front of the jeep. He could just make out the bulky form in the dimness. Sam's heart skipped a beat. He stood there, not daring to look away from the figure, which did not move but continued to watch him. Feeling the hair's on the back of his neck rising, Sam inched slowly towards the driver's side door, still staring at the dark shape. He pulled the door open and slid into the seat. Damon hadn't taken the keys with him, thank God. Sam turned the keys in the ignition. The car revved...but did not start.

 

"No." Sam moaned, trying to start the car again. The engine did not turn over. He looked up out the windshield and saw to his horror that his observer was moving forward slowly, directly in the path of the jeep. "Fuck!" Sam cried angrily, giving the key a vicious turn. To his immense relief, the motor sprang to life and at the same time the headlights came on. He looked up and felt himself go cold. The figure was less than two feet away from the front of the car, wearing a dark green parka with the hood pulled up so far that their face was completely obscured. In a gloved hand, the killer held a lethal double bladed axe. 

 

Sam was about to step on the gas pedal when he heard a noise on the roof of the car. It sounded like a thump. This was not happening. He looked back out the windshield and saw that the killer was no longer in front of the car. Instinctively, Sam looked to his left and then out the passenger window. Nothing. He breathed a sigh of relief. 

 

_Thump._

 

Sam jumped, his eyes snapping up to the roof of the car where the noise had again come from. He was breathing heavily now, his eyes wide with fear. There was something on the roof. Was the killer up there? There was another thump...and then another...and another...they were coming in quicker succession. Cold dread took over Sam, who stepped on the gas, trying his hardest to ignore both the thumping and the shaking of his own hands on the steering wheel. 

 

"Come on you piece of shit!" he roared at the vehicle, which lurched forward with an agonizing groan. Sam felt something give way on the back of the car but paid no heed to it. All that he cared about was that the car was actually moving. He was going to make it! 

 

The car lurched to a stop with a squeal of rubber against dirt. Sam was shaken in his seat. What the fuck had happened. Was there something stuck to the end of the car? He was about to turn to check the back window when he saw the killer step out from behind the tree in front of him, axe in hand. With a terrified yell, Sam put the car in reverse, slamming into the front of the big oak tree. 

 

Something fell out of the sky and landed on the windshield with a heart stopping crash. Sam actually screamed and let go of the steering wheel as broken glass and something red littered the front of the car. 

 

_No..._ he thought, feeling tears gathering behind his eyes. He recognized the body. It was Damon. And there was a thick noose around his neck leading up to the branch above the car. Sam let out a choked sob and tumbled out of the front seat, stumbling blindly to the body. He could dimly see the length of rope leading up to the branch and then down behind it to where it had been tied to the back of the car. 

 

Sobbing, Sam made to pull Damon's body to him when the he was pulled violently backward and thrown into the dirt. He turned and through his blurred vision saw the bulky frame of the killer bearing down on him. His hunting instincts suddenly kicking in, Sam kicked the figure in the knee. The killer went down, grabbing his knee in pain. Sam scrambled to his feet, casting one last glance back at the pitiful form of Damon on the hood of his jeep and took off running and yelling out for help. 

 

He ran for what felt like hours through the darkness, not daring to look back and trying hard not to think about what had happened back in the clearing. Damon couldn't be dead, not after all they'd worked through. When he did stop to catch his breath he only felt blind panic and sorrow overtake him. He couldn't stop. He just ran through the night, crying like a baby and screaming for help until his throat ached. 

 

The trees were thinning. He was near the campus now. Somebody had to hear him, somebody had to come and help him. 

 

Sam stumbled passed a tree with a thick trunk and looked over his shoulder, tears still falling down his face. No, he couldn't face it. This was a nightmare. He was just having another vision. He must have passed out in the jeep. He was still there now and when he woke up he would have time to save Damon. It was different from Michelle's death because it had to be because it was someone so damn important to him. 

 

Hysteria was setting in. He needed to find help. He turned back and collided with someone wearing a thick coat. 

 

It was the killer! He was going to die, just like Michelle and poor Damon! Sam pounded his fists into the person's chest, clawing at them and yelling like a cornered animal. 

 

"I'll kill you!" he screamed, "I'll fucking kill you!" 

 

The person took him by the shoulders and shook him violently. 

 

"Get a hold of yourself Sasquatch!" the voice said. 

 

Sam took a deep, agonized breath. That name...only one person would use that. Through his hysteria Sam saw that it wasn't the killer...it was Dean, looking at Sam with shock and concern. Sam stared at him, his breath coming in short shallow gasps. He closed his eyes and tried getting a hold on himself. But all he saw was Damon on the hood of the jeep. His eyes opened, staring imploringly at Dean, wanting him to make it better. But he couldn't. Damon was dead. 

 

Sam let out a wail of misery and fell forward, Dean catching him in his strong arms and holding him as he shook with renewed sobs, crying into his older brother's shoulder like a child. And Dean, for all his shock and confusion, held Sam to him like a baby and whispered to him softly. And somewhere in the tangled storm of emotions that were playing through Sam's mind, he felt safe. His sobs eased. It would be okay. 

 

Dean was there. It was always okay when Dean was there.


	5. Dean's Day

  
Author's notes: **Dean meets Sasha in the library. Some light is shed onto Sam and Dean's relationship. The urban legend mystery gets foggier.**  


* * *

Dean could barely believe that it had been less than a day since he'd left Redding for Stanford. Then again, it was hard to believe that it had been almost nine months since he'd last seen Sam. Nine long months of regret and guilt that had forced him to do a lot of thinking. His relationship with his father, while not volatile, hadn't been enough to fill the void left by Sam's departure all those months ago. 

 

John hadn't reacted quite the same way Dean had. He'd barely re-acted at all. He seemed more concerned over the money Sam had stolen from them to pay for his bus ticket. At first, Dean had hoped the loss of Sam would allow him to understand his father better. But no. When John had left, Dean hadn't lost it the way he had when he'd found the note from Sam upon returning to the motel in August. He'd taken a few hours to get his mind straight and then he'd made a plan. 

 

Dean was good at planning, or so he liked to think. He'd tried quite hard to compartmentalize his life but he wasn't the kind of person to do that. He'd seen what being like that had done to his father. Although not a cruel man, Dean had come to understand that John, for all his fatherly love for his son's, didn't really know them. As they'd gotten older they'd become more of a marine faction and less of a family. Perhaps that was why thing had gone the way they'd gone with Sam. 

 

For three and a half years he and his little brother had shared something that had made them feel normal, safe...loved. The societal implications of their relationship didn't faze them for those three years. It never mattered because they were on the outskirts of society and the people they did know personally knew nothing of it and they never stuck around long enough for the people they helped to realize anything was going on.

 

It was their magical little world, one that Dean had destroyed by being too much of a pussy to get out from under his father's thumb. 

 

Therefore it was no surprise when Sam stormed out of the library that afternoon. It had hurt like a bitch, but he hadn't been the slightest surprised, especially seeing as how it had primarily been his fault. A lot of things were his fault. 

 

Dean had gotten his bearings pretty fast after Sam had left. Not wanting to sit with his thoughts, he'd headed straight towards the New Age section that Sam had pointed out, trying hard to ignore the stares of the students, who were either giving him weird looks for his little scene with Sam or else regarding his drifter-like appearance with curiosity. 

 

He was going through the New Age section when a pretty, curvy blonde girl had tapped him on the shoulder.

 

"Sorry." He said, thinking he was in her way.

 

"For what?" She asked in a sexy, throaty voice. She had very bright blue eyes and a winning, clever smile. Dean mentally prayed to anything from God to Buddha that she was single. She was wearing a red top that looked like leather and plunged just low enough to pique Dean’s male interest. The little black skirt she wore only served to add to the image of sexy librarian. This day was definitely getting better.

 

"Are you Sam's friend?" She questioned.

 

Dean blinked. "What?"

 

She rolled her eyes at this. "It's not like that little scene there was private, buddy. How do you know Sam?" 

 

_Damn, is she his girlfriend or something?_ He thought, _because if she is, Sam made out like bandit_. But her tone of voice wasn't fitting of a girlfriend. It sounded protective, like a mother or older sibling. The kind of voice he'd often used when interrogating people about Sam. 

 

"I'm his brother." Dean said quietly. 

 

The girl raised her eyebrows.

 

"No shit?" She said in surprise. "Sam told me that you were in Vegas. What's it like working as a Chippendale's Dancer?"

 

_What the fuck has he been telling these people?_ Dean thought. Out loud he said, "I'm not a Chippendale's Dancer."

 

"Damn," the blonde said, "there goes the interview."

 

"What interview?" Dean asked, getting more confused by the second. 

 

She grinned and held out a hand which Dean shook. Damn she had soft skin. "Sasha Thomas," she said, "resident radio sex therapist."

 

Dean regarded Sasha with interest. "Sounds like a fun job. How do you know Sammy...I mean...my brother." Shit. He really needed to control his use of that endearment. His unease increased when Sasha cocked her head to the side and gazed at him like a fascinating new form of marine life. Hunting had taught Dean never to let his guard down with strangers and as Sasha's job dealt with relationships she was probably incredibly intuitive. However after a moment she seemed to let it slide and glanced at the book Dean had been reading about witchcraft. 

 

Sasha arched an eyebrow. 

 

"What exactly do you need with fertility spells?" She asked. 

 

Dean shrugged, trying to play it cool. "You know...you can never be too prepared for a little stranger."

 

"Yes. I'm sure as a healthy adult male a ritual for a healthy placenta is very important." Sasha grinned and Dean felt himself blush. Where the hell did she come from anyway? He was pretty sure he'd been alone in this part of the library. Deciding to change the subject, Dean said, "You never answered my question. How do you know my brother?" 

 

"You mean Sammy?" Sasha asked with a grin. She was clearly teasing him but Dean chose to ignore it. "We're friends." Sasha added.

 

"I figured as much." Dean said. "He never mentioned you in any of his...uh...letters."

 

Sasha arched an eyebrow. "Funny," she said, "Sam told me you guys fell out when you went to Vegas. Huh. But you aren't a Chippendale's dancer. So he lied about that. I guess fibbing is a common thing between you two, huh?"

 

Dean grimaced. Who the hell was she to get all personal about him and Sam? He'd only just met her. Sasha obviously felt she'd crossed a line because she sighed and shook her hair out of her face. 

 

"Sorry," she said, "but Sam's had it a little rough here and I try to look out for him, y'know? He's like a little brother to me."

 

"Well, he's _my_ little brother." Dean reminded her. 

 

"And he doesn't like to talk about you, so I'm guessing you guys don't have the best relationship in the world." Sasha stared at him hard, her eyes boring into his. Dean looked right back at her, still a little perturbed but also intrigued. Sasha seemed to really have Sam's best interests at heart. It was a feeling he could relate to completely, although Dean was guessing Sasha hadn't ever been as close as he and Sam had been. 

 

"What do you mean Sam's had it rough here?" Dean asked. 

 

Sasha grinned a little. "Nice to see we're on the same page. I guess rough is a little too harsh...it's not like he's been put through frat hazings or something." Sasha's nostrils flared at this and she looked angry again. Obviously she wasn't on the best of terms with the fraternity. "It's just...well, his one and only real campus relationship went a little...sour."

 

"Relationship?" Dean asked, trying to ignore the sudden spark of jealousy that flared in the pit of his stomach. 

 

Sasha nodded. "He...uh...doesn't know that I know. I guess you'd know more than anyone, but Sam's got a tendency to try and keep his problems to himself no matter how much it would help to tell someone else."

 

Dean raised his eyebrows. That didn't sound like the Sam he knew. Sam had always come to him when there was something wrong. It was he, Dean, who had the problem telling people when there was something wrong. If he'd been more like Sam they could've at least avoided what had happened in August. Then again, maybe that's what had caused Sam to change. 

 

"If he didn't tell you, how do you know?" Dean asked, leaning against the bookshelf. 

 

"I'm a sex therapist, buddy. I see a lot more than people think. Body language and stuff like that is pretty much like talking on a megaphone to me. For instance, right now you're trying to act as casual as possible to cover up any feelings of anger you might be feeling, possibly brought on by my telling you about Sam's relationship. And I'm guessing by the position of your eyebrows that you're either thinking about something in the past or you’re really creeped out or interested that a sex therapist can know all this stuff." Dean's eyes widened and Sasha grinned triumphantly. "Like I said," she added, "it's like a megaphone."

 

"So Sam was in a relationship." Dean said with a smile small, rattled, but impressed by Sasha's accurate assessment. He should give sex therapist's a lot more credit. 

 

Sasha nodded. "Yeah. It started around the middle of September." She paused and gave Dean a look of near apprehension, as though worried that what she said next would result in a violent outburst. "It...uh...well, he was...I mean...it's the twenty first century and..." Sasha trailed off, clearly wondering whether or not she should spit it out. Dean took a swift glance at her and tried to read her body language the way she'd read his. Her arms were drawn in, almost protectively under her chest. Her whole frame was tense and she was leaning away from him ever so slightly. But her eyes were searching, trying to tell him something without words. 

 

Sasha knew nothing about him, and therefore was probably worried that he would react badly to the identity of Sam's ex. But why? Dean wasn't racist, or homophobic. Hell he was far from homophobic, especially when it came to Sam. But Sasha didn't know that. 

 

"Sasha," Dean said quietly, "It was a guy, wasn't it?"

 

Sasha nodded. "Yeah."

 

"What happened?" Dean asked.

 

"At first, nothing. They were really great together. They never let us know - the others in our little group, I mean - but it was obvious to me by how they were around each other." Sasha smiled softly, as if she were remembering something warm and happy. "As far as I knew there was nothing wrong until around November. Damon - that's Sam's ex - wanted to join the fraternity and...Well, let's just say he became a righteous dick after pledge week. I don't know exactly how they broke it off, but they've avoided each other like the plague."

 

Dean sighed wearily, pinching the bridge of the nose. No wonder Sam was so upset. He'd been cast away by Dean and then found this Damon guy only to have it go south in a matter of months. It really wasn't fair. And now that Dean knew the truth, he wanted to find Sam and talk to him, tell him that he understood and that they could work it out. But would Sam even want to talk after what had happened today? 

 

_Christ, I don't even know what I want anymore,_ Dean thought bitterly. It shouldn't have mattered, now that Dad was gone. It would be so easy for them to pick everything up again. But every time Dean thought about Sam, he felt guilt slam into him like a two-by-four to the gut. He'd hurt Sam so damn badly that day and he didn't know if he could forgive himself for breaking that trust, that promise he'd always made Sam. 

 

_"I'll never hurt you, baby. I promise."_ God damn it hurt to think of it even now. That was why he wanted them to just be brothers. Brothers fought all the time. If he and Sam were just brothers, then what Dean had done wouldn't be that big a deal. If he let them go back to what they'd had before...it was too much for him to take. He was the protector and he'd let Sam down in the worst possible way. 

 

"Hey." Sasha said, putting a tentative arm on his shoulder. Shit. He'd forgotten she was there. Dean straightened up, trying to regain his composure and wondering whether or not Sasha had read more in his body language than he'd wanted her too. A glance in her direction told Dean that his fears were justified. Sasha was regarding him curiously, trying to place some kind of assessment on him. He shook his head. It sucked when other people used the body language reading trick on him. Normally he was the one doing it to other people. 

 

Recalling the class he'd sat in on that morning, Dean asked, "This Damon guy...he wouldn't happen to have gelled blonde hair would he?"

 

Sasha nodded. "Yeah. How did you know?"

 

"I saw him talking to Sam this morning in a class they had together."

 

Sasha chuckled. "Damn. You must have wanted to see him pretty bad. That was probably Wexler's folklore class."

 

"They were talking about urban legends." Dean said, suddenly remembering just why he'd come to this section of the library. 

 

"Them and everybody else." Sasha rolled her eyes. "Ever since that report about Michelle Mancini came on the whole campus has been talking about urban legends."

 

"I was looking for a book on urban legends." Dean said.

 

Sasha smirked. "Heard about, huh? Is that why you came here? To make sure Sam was okay?" Her tone wasn't mocking. It was genuinely curious. Dean liked her. She reminded Dean of himself. 

 

"Yeah." Dean said. "Gotta look out for him, y'know? Especially after all this time apart."

 

Sasha beamed. "We've got a lot in common then...you know you never told me your name."

 

Dean grinned. "It's Dean." he told her. Sasha smiled.

 

"Dean. I like that." She took him by the wrist and led him to the other side of the bookshelves but both of them stopped short when they saw a petite redhead on the floor looking through the books on the lower shelf. She looked up in surprise and hastily stuffed one of the books back into the shelf.

 

"Natalie!" Sasha said in surprise. "What are you doing here? I thought you and Brenda had a Woman's Lit class after lunch."

 

"Oh." Natalie looked nervous and did not meet Dean's gaze. "I was just...looking at some stuff."

 

"In the folklore section?" Sasha said. "Don't you get enough of that with Wexler's class?"

 

"Well," Natalie forced a smile, "you can never be too prepared, you know?"

 

"Yeah..." Sasha regarded her quizzically.

 

"Well...gotta go!" Natalie said. "I'm...uh...meeting Sam later..."

 

"What?" Dean asked, but Natalie had turned the corner. He looked back at Sasha who knelt down on the floor and started to search for the book Natalie had been going through. "What the hell did she mean she was meeting Sam later?"

 

"Oh. That's Sam's...uh...trophy girlfriend." Sasha said her eyes still on the book spines. 

 

"Trophy girlfriend?" Dean repeated. 

 

"Sam and Natalie maintain that they're going out but they, uh, don't really do anything together. They're not really a couple. I think Sam just uses Natalie as a way to stop thinking about Damon."

 

"And she's okay with it?"

 

Sasha shrugged. "It beats being alone, I guess. She doesn't really seem to mind. There!" She slid out a thick book in brown leather binding. Upon inspecting the cover, Sasha frowned. 

 

"What the hell?" She muttered.

 

Dean looked over her shoulder and also frowned. It was a copy of _An Encyclopedia of Urban Legends,_ the same book Sam had let him thumb through earlier. 

 

"Why would she be looking for this?" Dean asked. "She's in the folklore class, right?"

 

Sasha nodded. "Yeah...that's the weird thing. And this copy is older than the one Wexler ordered for the class so she wouldn't need it." Sasha bit her lip and then got to her feet. She led Dean out from behind the bookshelves and across the library to the front desk. Most of the students who had been here before were gone now. Once at the front desk, Sasha pulled out her student card and signed the book out. When she and Dean were outside the library, she handed it to him.

 

"Here." She said. "It should help if you've got any questions." 

 

Dean arched an eyebrow. "What makes you think I've got questions?"

 

Sasha grinned cheekily. "Intuition. You've got a Fox Mulder look to you."

 

Dean shuddered and Sasha laughed. 

 

"Okay then. I take it you don't like the X-Files?"

 

"Hate it." Dean said with a grin. 

 

Sasha rolled her eyes. "Whatever. Anyway, read that. It beats stealing your brother's copy." She pulled her bag tighter over her shoulder. "I've gotta go. Sam's dorm room is-

 

"He gave it to me." Dean said, pulling out the index card Sam had given him. 

 

Sasha nodded. "Right. Well...see you around Dean." She turned on her high heeled boot and began walking away. 

 

"Wait!" Dean called. Sasha turned and gave him a questioning look. Dean grinned impishly. "When can I see you again?"

 

Sasha laughed. "You can hear me from ten to midnight on Stanford Radio. All the radios here should be set to the station, but the call number is 97.7 AM."

 

Dean nodded. "I'll be waiting."

 

With another bright smile, Sasha turned and walked away. Dean watched her go, happy to have met her and more importantly relieved that Sam was as close to her as Sasha had said he was. At least his brother wasn't alone here completely. Thinking of Sam, Dean glanced down at the number on the index card and decided to head off to the dorm to see if he could talk to Sam again. 

 

It was now late afternoon. Most of the classes were being let out for the day so there were more students on the quad than Dean had anticipated. He had difficulty getting through them and once or twice felt someone step on his foot, whether by accident or on purpose was a mystery to him. His conversation with Sasha had served to open up some windows in his relationship with Sam, although that one big door was still securely locked, or so he hoped. 

 

Dean finally reached Sam's dorm and was shocked to see that it was already a quarter to six. He hadn't been that long in the library had he? Making sure he had the correct number, Dean raised a fist to knock on the door and then stopped.

 

He couldn't do this right now. Sam had been pretty damn upset that afternoon and dragging up more crap about the urban legend murder would probably just serve to drive a wedge further between them. Shaking his head, Dean turned and headed out of the dorm building, suddenly feeling tired. He'd woken up at six that morning, two hours ahead of the time he was used too waking up. The drive from Redding to Stanford hadn't exactly been the most enjoyable and all that had happened that day had only made him more exhausted. 

 

He needed to get some shut eye. 

 

Reaching the campus parking lot, he saw that the last of the police cars had finally pulled away. He'd been mildly nervous at seeing the cops here when he'd first arrived. He had yet to be convicted for a felony, but the whole investigation would probably be easier without them poking their noses in. Shaking his head, Dean got into his beautiful black car and pulled out of the parking lot. Campus security hadn't exactly been happy to see him that day and he was sure he wouldn't get into their good books by sleeping in his car in the parking lot. 

 

There was a small town about a half an hour away from the school where some of the student body lived in residence. When Dean arrived there, he managed to find a room in the only motel. After a shower and a quick bite to eat, he crawled into the double bed and was asleep almost instantly. 

 

_Sam was looking at him imploringly, his unkempt brown hair falling into his face as it often did. He didn't want this to be true and damn it if Dean wasn't screaming on the inside for this to stop. But he had to go through with it. It was better for them both if they stopped this now._

_"Please," Sam begged, "please don't do this. You promised we could leave when I got older."_

_Dean shook his head. "Sam, this isn't right. We need to end this before someone finds out."_

_"Who's going to find out?" Sam asked._

_"Uh, gee, I dunno, maybe...Dad?" Dean said, not meeting Sam's gaze because he knew the moment he did he would lose his resolve completely and probably smother his brother with kisses to make it all better._

_"That's why we have to leave!" Sam insisted. "So that he doesn't find out! We...we can be together like we planned..."_

_"No. We can't. It was never going to work, Sam."_

_"So why the fuck did you let it go on for as long as it has!" Sam asked, his voice cracking with the effort of not crying._

_"It was making you happy." Dean said, hating himself for doing this._

_"Then if you want to make me happy, let's leave tonight!" Sam begged, stepping towards Dean, who did not move but stood staring down at the ugly linoleum of the kitchen. He shook his head again._

_"We can't leave, Sam." Dean insisted quietly. "Dad needs us."_

_Sam snorted. "No, he doesn't. He's a fucking grown man, Dean. He can do this himself. Besides what the fuck does he need me for? I'm not good enough remember?"_

_Dean flinched at the pain in Sam's voice, wanting to comfort him but not daring to let himself. This was for the best...it had to be._

_"You fucking bastard." Sam said, and Dean finally looked up to see that tears were falling down Sam's face. "You don't wanna leave, do you? You never wanted too."_

_"Sam..."_

_"No! You don't wanna leave because you're afraid of being without Daddy, aren't you?"_

_For a moment silence hung between them, deadly and heavy in the small kitchen._

_Dean's fist connected with Sam's face before he could stop himself. Sam cried out in pain and shock, covering his nose with his hand and turning to look back up at his older brother, his eyes wide with fear. He lowered his hand slowly, his nose bloody. Regret and guilt seized Dean instantly and he took a step forward, wincing when Sam backed away._

_"You...you promised." Sam said softly. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Why Dean? Are you really that scared of living without him?"_

_Whatever regret had washed over Dean was replaced with a newfound fury born of denial at Sam's words. He grabbed Sam by the front of his shirt and threw him with all his strength out of the room. He flew across the small space between the kitchen and living room and stumbled over the coffee table. Before Dean could pull him back, Sam fell backwards onto the wood, breaking it in half with the force of his fall. Sam let out a scream of pain that echoed through the motel..._

 

Dean gasped and sat up in his bed, Sam's scream still ringing in his ears. For several seconds, he looked around the dark room, breathing heavily and trying hard to shake the guilt off. But it was no use. It never was when he had this dream. Before he could stop himself, he let his head fall onto his knee and he began to cry. It was always the same. No matter how hard he tried, he could never forget what he’d done that day. 

 

After several minutes, Dean got a grip on himself. Wiping his tear stained face, he glanced at the clock and was surprised to see that it was nearing eleven. Taking a deep breath, he got up and got dressed, not really knowing where he was going until he was in the Impala and driving down the dark road back towards Stanford. It was stupid to try and talk to Sam this late, but he had to try. Had to let him know how he'd been feeling ever since coming back to that empty motel all those months ago. 

 

_I need to clear my head,_ Dean thought as he drove passed a dark stretch of trees. He rolled the window down and allowed the cool night air to play across his skin. It was stinging, but nonetheless pleasant. He braked to make a turn and in the brief, almost infinitesimal moment when the noise from the engine subdued he heard something that made him frown. 

 

Someone out there was screaming. After making the turn which lead to the opposite side of the campus near the sorority and fraternity houses, Dean stopped the car and listened. There was no mistaking it this time. Somebody was screaming in the night. As memory of the murder hit him like a ton of bricks, Dean scrambled out of the car, checking to make sure he had his knife on him. 

 

Only when he was outside did he recognize the scream.

 

It was Sam. 

 

His blood cold, Dean tore through the night, down the road and passed the trees. He could see the campus in the distance but the screams were coming from somewhere nearby, in the trees. Dean turned when he reached the clear field beyond the trees and ran along the edge of the forest, hearing the cries for help coming closer and closer. He stopped and listened. Someone was crashing through the trees nearby. Turning, he collided with Sam, who let out a cry and began pounding his fists against Dean in blind panic and anger. 

 

"I'll kill you!" His little brother screamed, "I'll fucking kill you!"

 

Somehow under the assault from Sam's fists, Dean managed to grab his brother by the shoulders and shake him roughly. 

 

"Get a hold of yourself Sasquatch!" He said sharply. Sam stopped and looked at Dean, his eyes streaming with tears, his face covered in dirt. There was something red on Sam's hands, something that looked like blood. With a small moan, Sam fell forward onto Dean’s chest. Dean caught him and held him against him tightly, rocking him back and forth as he cried into the night air. 

 

What the fuck had happened now? 

 

"He's dead, Dean." Sam sobbed. "Oh God...it was tied to the back of the car...I killed him Dean...he was on the roof...I should've checked..."

 

"Shh." Dean whispered. "You didn't kill anybody Sam. It wasn't you fault. C'mon." Gently, he helped Sam to his feet. Sam slumped against Dean's shoulder as they two brothers walked through the night back to the Impala. Sam's sobs had turned to sniffles by the time Dean got them back to the car, but he was shaking like a leaf in a hurricane. 

 

"I can't close my eyes." Sam said, "I see it...he's gone...oh fuck...I should've known..."

 

"Sammy, just...just take it easy, okay? We're going to go back to town and then we'll talk this over, alright?" Dean hoped he didn't sound too insensitive. His first and foremost concern was for his little brother and anything else would have to wait. 

 

Sam said nothing but leaned against the window and stared straight ahead. When they reached the town, Dean helped him out of the car and into his motel room. There, Dean practically frog marched Sam to the shower and told him not to come out until he felt ready. In the meanwhile, Dean made a pot of coffee and set two mugs out on the small table. 

 

It was almost forty minutes before Sam came out of the shower. He looked a little better, but his eyes were still haunted and his hands shook when Dean handed him the coffee mug. 

 

"What happened, Sammy?" Dean asked softly. 

 

Sam took a deep breath and a long gulp of coffee and tried to speak but only let out a small moan.

 

Dean bit his lip. This was going to be harder than he thought. 

 

"Was it...Damon?" Dean asked quietly.

 

Sam looked up at him, his face the very picture of shock.

 

"How did you know about him?" He asked in a small voice. 

 

Dean shrugged. "I...uh...met Sasha today and she told me about you two."

 

Sam shook his head. "And I thought it was a secret." He took another calming breath and then said, "We were...going to work it out tonight, Dean. I went by the frat house and he took me to this little clearing in the woods...we talked in his car...it was...it was great. He apologized for acting like such an asshole and...well...we were..." Sam closed his eyes again and Dean understood at once what Sam and Damon had been doing in the woods and, in spite of himself, he felt jealousy rear it's head. Even though it was more than likely that Damon was now dead, Dean couldn't help but feel green with envy at the way Sam spoke of him. Damon must have meant a lot to him for Sam to be speaking this way and to be taking his death so hard. 

 

Shaking the feeling off, Dean asked, "What happened next?"

 

Sam's voice shook again. "He had to step out...and I waited...and...oh God...the killer...they must've got him when he was out there...and I didn't do anything." Tears flowed down Sam's face and Dean instinctively put a hand over his brother's. Sam gazed at Dean's hand over his for several moments, his expression dazed but he did not pull away. Instead, he continued, trying hard to control himself. "I went out to look for him and...the killer was there...wearing a parka...and I went back into the car...fuck, I should've looked on the roof...there were...thumping noises and I tried to drive away but the killer...I put the car in reverse and...and...his...body..."

 

Sam could not go on. He buried his face in his hands and began to sob again, his whole frame shaking. Dean got out of his chair and wrapped his arms around Sam, who did not object to this show of affection but leaned into Dean's embrace and continued to sob until he couldn't anymore. After several moments of silence, Dean realized that Sam had cried himself to sleep. 

 

Feeling as though he was going to cry, Dean gently got Sam to his feet and lead him to the bedroom and helped him into the bed that was barely big enough to hold him. Dean turned to leave the room, and as he did so, a small voice caused him to turn back. 

 

"Thanks...Dean..." Sam mumbled, his eyes shut. 

 

Dean smiled gently at his brother from the door. "Anytime Sammy. I'll always be there." 

 

Once back in the living room, Dean went right for his bag and the _Encyclopedia of Urban Legends_ that Sasha had signed out for him. What had happened to Damon...it sounded familiar. Not quite how Dean had remembered it, but it was too close to be a coincidence. To his surprise, there were a few pages of the book that were dog-eared. Frowning, Dean opened the book to the first place marked and felt himself go cold. 

 

It was an illustration of a young man hanging upside down from a tree branch over a car. His throat was slit open and the young woman in the car was looking up at the roof in fear. The Lover's Lane killer legend...somebody had been looking at it. 

 

Dean turned to the inside cover of the book and let out a low gasp of shock.

 

Dated the day before yesterday under the name Brenda Bates and above the name Sasha Thomas…was the name Damon Brooks.


	6. Morning After

  
Author's notes: **Sam wakes up in the motel and goes with Dean to check on the scene of the murder. Sam and Dean's relationship begins to mend. Sam realizes something chilling about the killer's identity.**  


* * *

Sam had no idea where he was when he woke in the pale morning light. For several moments, he simply lay on the comfortable bed that was not his own with his eyes shut, half hoping that everything last night had been a terrible nightmare or vision and that he'd open his eyes to find himself still in his dorm room with Paul giving him the usual cheeky morning greeting. But he knew this was just a response to what had _actually_ happened. Denying the truth was a way of blocking out the harsh reality of Damon's death. 

 

Damon...

 

Sam eyes snapped open as he pictured the other boy's face hovering over his in the jeep. No, he couldn't think of this, not now. The killer needed to be caught. Propping himself up on his elbow, Sam became aware of several things at once. First of all, he was in a motel room that he didn't remember ever coming too. Secondly, he was only in his boxers. And finally and most dimly, he recognized the noise of the television from just outside his room. Rolling over, he saw that a clock on the night side table read 6:30 in the morning. It was passed eleven when Damon had been murdered. 

 

Thinking of Damon caused a new wash of grief to pass of Sam and he quickly jumped out of bed, trying hard to leave it behind. It was hurting too much to think about what he and Damon could have had again if the killer had picked a different target. Finding his things neatly laid out next to the bed, Sam dressed. As he did so, he remembered the details of what had occurred after he'd been attacked last night. Running through the woods, screaming for help. His throat did in fact feel scratchier than normal and he had to take several breaths to ease the dull ache in his vocal chords.

 

He paused, looking around the room as more memories came back. He'd tumbled blindly through the trees and run into someone...someone who had taken him back here. Trembling slightly, Sam silently pushed the door open and looked out into the living room where the television was on, the volume so low that he could just barely hear it. He knew who it was that he would find on the couch before he got there. It was Dean who had saved him last night and taken him here. Dean who had given up his bed for Sam. 

 

His older brother was laying on the small couch with his jacket over him as a blanket, his eyes closed, breathing evenly in his sleep. For several moments, Sam simply knelt beside the couch, watching Dean sleeping and felt love for his brother course through his veins. Dean had come to his rescue last night. It was a miracle that he'd been able to find Sam at all. Despite his obvious uncomfortable sleeping space, Dean looked peaceful. Sam smiled softly and placed a hand gently over Dean's heart, feeling his chest rise and fall as he breathed. 

 

He had trouble placing just how he felt at the moment. He was still reeling from Damon's death but seeing Dean here helped to ease that pain somewhat. He was grateful that Dean had found him last night and had taken care of him once he'd reached the motel. Despite how calm he felt at that moment, Sam couldn't also help but feel slightly ashamed for the way he'd treated Dean earlier the previous day, how easily he'd forgotten about him under Damon's touch. Sam had caused such a scene in the library and yet Dean still felt the need to take care of him. It'd always been that way between them. Sam always had be making the big waves while Dean was there to quiet him down...protect him...love him.

 

Before he could stop himself, Sam leaned over the arm of the couch and, with his face parallel to Dean's, gently kissed his big brother on his soft lips. A small part of him was telling him that this was a complete disregard for Dean's wishes and that it would only lead to more trouble between them. But Sam was far from caring anymore. What had happened last night had served to remind him that time was not on his side and he had to get what he could, even if it meant re-enacting the kissing scene from Spider-man with his slumbering brother. 

 

Damon had kissed him like this once...

 

Thinking of Damon's corpse on the hood of the jeep made the dam Sam had tried to build burst. With his lips still against Dean's, Sam let the tears fall. For Damon, for Dean and for how fucked up this all was. 

 

He didn't notice his tears fall on Dean's face. He didn't feel Dean stir or even know that he was awake until Dean's lips parted in surprise. For a brief moment Sam expected Dean to pull away and rebuff him, but to his surprise he felt Dean's lips graze against his. 

 

They stayed like that for longer than was probably necessary. Sam's neck was starting to ache, but he didn't care. This is what he'd wanted ever since seeing Dean yesterday morning. He could scarcely believe that Dean had been here for less than twenty four hours. So much had happened. Hesitantly, Sam ran his tongue along Dean's lower lip. For a moment, Dean stiffened and then allowed Sam entry into his mouth. 

 

_God I need this,_ Sam thought as Dean's arm curled over his shoulder and stroked his back as well he could from his position on the couch. The very softness of the kiss reminded Sam of just how different his brother was from Damon. Damon and Sam had always been on a level playing field, mostly due to their age. Sam couldn't count on Damon to be selfless and protecting like Dean was. Damon hadn't been a bad person by any stretch of the imagination, but he lacked Dean's inner strength. And damn it if Sam didn't like feeling protected by his big brother. 

 

Sam only broke the kiss when he realized his neck was going numb from being hunched over. Grudgingly, his lips left Dean's. He stared down into Dean's beryl eyes, feeling warmth spread through him like a hot drink. 

 

"Hey..." Sam said softly, testing the waters. 

 

Dean smiled back at him. "Hey..." He sat up on the couch and cleared a space for Sam, who was beside Dean in a heartbeat. Instinctively, Sam sat on Dean's lap facing forward, allowing Dean to wrap his arms around him and rest his head on Sam's shoulder they way they'd used to sit all those months ago. 

 

"You okay?" Dean asked. 

 

Sam took a inhaled deeply, still not sure of the answer. 

 

"I think so..." He said. "It's just...hard to think about, y'know?" 

 

Dean tightened his embrace around Sam and kissed the top of his forehead. 

 

"I'm so sorry baby." He whispered. 

 

_Why did I ever want him stop calling me that?_ Sam thought, kicking himself for being pissed when Dean had called him baby yesterday. It felt too damn good to hear now. Then again, everything felt too good right now. He was getting jaded from having everything taken away from him. Getting Damon back and losing him so quickly...it was too unfair. 

 

"Dean..." Sam said, staring at the early morning cartoon on the television, "Damon's body...it's still there..."

 

"Do you wanna go back for it?" Dean asked.

 

"It...it would be right..." Sam said, closing his eyes and picturing the clearing in this early morning light, Damon's corpse lying on the hood of his jeep. He shuddered and blinked several times to stop himself from crying. 

 

Dean didn't move right away. He rested his chin on Sam's shoulder and left it there for several lingering moments, letting his warm breath play across Sam's throat. Sam could tell Dean was debating the advisability of going to check on the murder scene. He himself knew the benefits and drawbacks of going. On one hand, it would allow them to get Damon's body down before the police showed up and pinned the crime on Sam. On the other hand, they would most likely risk running the chance of being caught in the act of doing so and would most likely end up in the police station with some sticky questions to answer.

 

After a minute or so, Dean said softly, "If you want too...then we'll go and take a look. But if it's too hard for you then we'll just drop an anonymous call to the police."

 

Sam nodded, not feeling altogether right about the decision. He turned his head to look into Dean's eyes and felt slightly braver. Dean nodded and gave Sam a quick kiss before gently maneuvering himself out from behind Sam, who stood, feeling dizzy. This was happening too fast and there was nothing he could do to stop it, not that he wanted too. It was just so hard to believe that he and Dean were like this again. 

 

"Dean!" Sam said when Dean made to pick up his jacket. "What exactly does this mean...for us...?”

 

Dean grinned and shrugged, throwing his jacket on. 

 

"Whatever you want it to be, Sam. I feel a hell of a lot better when we’re like this. But let's just be careful for now, okay?"

 

Sam nodded slowly and followed Dean out the front door into the chilly morning air. There weren't too many people out and about at this time of the day. Most of the students living in residence here didn't have classes until around eight. 

 

It felt a little odd but also reassuring for Sam when he hopped into the passenger's seat of the Impala. This car was home to him in a funny way. Being in here now after all that had happened was like visiting an old town he'd once lived in, familiar, but still oddly different. The smell of leather and the faint scent of pine from the air freshener made him relax a little and once the engine roared to life, he couldn't help but smile. 

 

He glanced over at Dean during the drive from the town to the woods. Dean's forehead was creased in concentration the way it always was when he was focusing on the road. It brought back the countless times he had been in the passenger seat with his brother when John was too tired to drive. He loved watching Dean driving...then again, he just plain loved being able to watch Dean do anything again. 

 

Dean slowed the car down before taking the turn to the stretch of road that led to the woods. In case the cops were already out, driving to the scene would look a little suspicious. Just before Dean cut the engine, Sam impulsively put his hand over his brother's on the steering wheel. Dean glanced at him, mildly surprised at first, but then he grinned and brought their joined hands to his lips, kissing the back of Sam's knuckles reassuringly. 

 

This...this was really happening. Would they really be able to go back to what they'd had before?

 

Taking a deep breath, Sam hopped out of the car and followed Dean down the road, not really knowing what to say. The fact that they'd be at the place where Damon had been killed last night began to flash through Sam's mind in rapid succession. He saw everything like it was a movie. The tree...the jeep...Damon falling from the branch where he'd been strung up, connected to the end of the car...

 

"Shit..." Dean muttered, throwing an arm out to stop Sam from moving forward. Sam could see it too, even in the pale morning light. The red and blue lights flashing just around the turn off. Cautiously, he and Dean looked around the trees and saw several patrol cars parked at the entrance to the dusty path that led to the clearing. Dean put a finger to his lips and led Sam quickly to the other side of the road. Without hesitation, they plunged into the trees and began to walk as quietly as possible towards the general direction of the clearing. 

 

It took them all of ten minutes to do so. Dean stopped moving when they could just see the clearing ahead of them. To Sam's horror, the jeep was still there, the rope dangling from the branch. There was a white sheet covering the hood where Sam knew Damon's body was. Several police officers and members of campus security were on the scene, appraising the murder site before them with grave expressions. 

 

They were too far off for Sam to hear what they were saying, but he was pretty sure they were all thinking the same thing. 

 

_Urban legend..._

 

It was too damn close to the actual story to be a coincidence. Even with the rope being tied to the end of the car so that the only way Damon could have been killed was if the roof he'd been dangling over had been driven out from under him...the only way he could have died is if Sam had driven away, which he had. 

 

At this thought, Sam felt himself begin to shake violently. The killer had set this up so that Sam would take the blame. Even if the cops didn't see it, there was no denying that he'd been the one to knock the figurative chair out from under Damon's feet, lynching him in seconds. 

 

"Fuck." He moaned, falling to his knees. Damon was dead because of him. He felt Dean kneel down next to him and put a comforting arm around his shoulder, not saying anything. They'd been risking discovery of they spoke, even in the slightest whisper. Sam simply say there, his arms around his knees, trying to fight back another stream of tears as Dean held him. 

 

A roar split the stillness of the woods and Sam jumped, snapping his head in the direction of the clearing where somebody was cursing up a storm in a voice choked with sobs. Birds flew out of the branches at the mourner's yells and Sam didn't need to see the person to realize who it was. 

 

Parker was freaking out. A burly security officer moved aside and Sam was able to see Parker, sitting on the front of the lone police cruiser with his head in his hands, shaking violently. Of course he was here. Who else would have known that Sam was going out with Damon last night? Parker must have been the one to come out looking for his frat brother and had probably phoned the police too. But if that was the case...

 

"Shit," Sam said softly, "Jesus fucking Christ..."

 

"Whoa there potty mouth, " Dean said, peering at Sam in confusion, "what the hell's wrong?"

 

"That's Parker Riley," Sam said as quietly as possible, "he's the ringleader of the fraternity Damon belonged too. He...he knew we were out here last night Dean...fuck...he probably thinks I did it..."

 

Dean clenched his jaw, staring at the clearing with hard eyes.

 

"C'mon," he said. "We need to get out of here. Go back to your dorm and get your things. We'll stay at the motel."

 

Silently, he helped Sam to his feet and did not speak until they were out of the woods and back in the Impala, driving towards the campus. 

 

"Even if this Parker guy thinks you're the killer, there's no way to -”

 

"There's plenty of ways to prove it, Dean." Sam said wearily. "There's probably trace evidence all over the seat of the car. And footprints...and I'm pretty sure they'll find my DNA on Damon..." He turned a little pink and did not look at Dean as he said this. For some reason, even hinting that he and Damon had been making out last night seemed hard to admit to Dean. However, Dean said nothing but continued to drive with a deep frown. 

 

"Just tell 'em what happened if they ask." Dean said. "After that Mancini girl the cops are bound to believe anything is possible now. And as for evidence...Sam, I'm sure they'll see other footprints in the dirt. They'll know there was someone else out there with you and Damon last night. Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if it turned out to be Parker." 

 

Sam felt his heart jump into his throat.

 

"Fuck, Dean..." He said, his eyes widening, "you don't think the killer's on campus do you?"

 

Dean said nothing, but Sam could tell by his expression that this was exactly what he was thinking. The possibility that there was a killer possibly among Sam's group of friends made his blood run cold and he huddled into his seat slightly as they pulled into the campus parking lot. People were already out and about, none of them looking too worried. News of Damon's death had obviously not been made public yet. He and Dean must've come across the police investigation moments after it started. 

 

Dean cut the engine and then turned in his seat to look at Sam, who was staring out the window with his eyes wide as dinner plates. Without warning, he leaned across the space between them and pulled Sam into a tight embrace. Obviously he couldn't show more than that in public. To anyone who knew Dean was Sam's brother this would probably just look like a supportive hug. But Sam knew it meant more. 

 

"You're gonna be okay." Dean murmured into Sam's ear. "I'm not gonna let anything happen to you."

 

"I know." Sam whispered, smiling as the reality sunk in. He and Dean were back to where they'd been before he'd left. Hell they were probably closer in light of all that happened recently. 

 

Dean let go of Sam and looked him square in the eyes.

 

"I love you." He said firmly. 

 

Sam smiled again. 

 

"I love you too." For a second they simply gazed into each other's eyes, and then Sam chuckled and moved on. "Should I get my urban legend book? It might help."

 

Dean shrugged. "If you want too. Sasha checked one out for me yesterday in the library so..." He stopped, his eyes widening in surprise. He stared forward, not really seeing Sam, who cocked his head to the side in concern.

 

"What is it Dean?" Sam asked.

 

"Jesus," Dean whispered, "I forgot. Last night after you went to bed, I checked the book and...and that legend was book marked...the one about the lover's lane killer...and...Sam, Damon was the last person to sign it out before Sasha."

 

"What? Why the fuck would he need _that_ book? We got assigned it in class..." Sam trailed off as he recalled something he'd overheard a few days ago. Parker heckling Damon about losing something...had he lost his copy of _An Encyclopedia of Urban Legends_? Aloud he asked, "What does it mean?"

 

"I don't know." Dean said, frowning. "Either Damon was just doing some research for class or...or he had something to do with his own murder..."

 

Sam shook his head. The odds on that were slim. 

 

"Did you find anything to tie these killings with the supernatural yesterday?" Sam asked. 

 

Dean shook his head. "No. I met Sasha before I could find anything. I don't think she would've found that urban legend book if it wasn't for that spacey redhead."

 

"What spacey red head?" 

 

Dean screwed up his face, trying to recall whoever it was he and Sasha had met yesterday. "Uh, some girl named Naomi...no, that wasn't it...Natalia..."

 

"Natalie?" Sam asked in surprise.

 

Dean nodded absently and then his eyes lit up. "Shit Sam. Sasha told me this Natalie girl was your trophy girlfriend..."

 

Sam rolled his eyes. Leave it to the radio sex therapist to pinpoint the mechanics of his relationship with Natalie. "Yeah...something like that. So she was looking at this book you got out?"

 

Dean nodded. "Yeah. Seemed real jumpy too."

 

Sam bit his lip.

 

"Fuck me, Dean." He said, letting out a long breath as the implications of what this meant hit him.

 

Dean looked surprised but couldn't stop the corners of his mouth from twitching. "Uh...maybe a little later, Sammy..."

 

Sam punched Dean playfully in the arm. "Get your mind out of the gutter, perv boy. I just realized what this all means..."

 

"What?"

 

"It means that anyone on campus could be the killer...even my friends." 

 

Sam stared at Dean, his eyes wide with fear. For a moment, he thought Dean was going to hug him again but before either could act on this notion, a loud tap on the passenger window caused them both to jump a mile. Turning, Sam saw Brenda peering in at them with a broad grin. Some feet behind her, Natalie and Paul were looking on with amusement. 

 

"Friends?" Dean asked, giving Brenda a level look.

 

Sam nodded, feeling cold all over. "Yeah," he said. "Damn this is gonna be hard."

 

Dean shrugged and then leaned in to whisper in his ear. 

 

"Act normal. I'm gonna search the library some more. Go to your first class and then meet me there when it's over...if you can." 

 

Sam nodded. 

 

"Love you." Dean whispered. Sam grinned and tilted his head so that Brenda wouldn't see him whisper back to his brother.

 

"Love you too."

 

Grudgingly he pushed the door open and closed it before Brenda could jump in and start fawning over Dean, who waved at Sam before driving off. 

 

"Damn it!" Brenda pouted. "I wanted to introduce myself."

 

"I thought you wanted to get with Paul." Sam muttered so that only Brenda could hear. She shrugged.

 

"Old news." She said with a smirk. "I think Nat's more interested in him." She put a hand on Sam's arm and stopped him just out of earshot of Natalie and Paul. "Make a killing last night?"

 

Sam looked down at Brenda in horror before he realized she was referring to his scoring with Damon. Of course Brenda couldn't have known about Damon's death. Sam shook his head. There was no way in hell someone as chipper and pleasant as Brenda Bates could be a cold blooded psychopath. 

 

"Uh.." he said, not sure of whether to tell them about Damon or not. Deciding not to, he said, "I don't know what you're talking about."

 

Brenda rolled her eyes and limped off to join Natalie and Paul. Sam cocked his head to the side as he watched her go. He hadn't noticed Brenda's limp yesterday. She must've gotten that during a swimming practice. 

 

They headed to the student lounge. Sam felt it incredibly disconcerting to be acting like everything was all hunky dory when he knew it would only be a matter of time before news of Damon's murder reached the student body. Despite Dean's assurances, he was still worried over what the police and campus security would think when they found out that Sam had been in the car with Damon last night. 

 

"How's the Stanley Hall article going?" Brenda asked Paul as the four of them sat by their usual place near the fire in the lounge. Paul shrugged. 

 

"Well, I got the Mancini murder pretty much covered, so Stanley Hall should be out by tomorrow. I...uh...had to fabricate a few things. I wanted to see if there were any survivors of the massacre but all I got was this guy named Max Wilier Well."

 

"Who's that?" Natalie asked. 

 

"That's the thing," Paul looked mildly annoyed, "I could only find one article from 1975. Apparently he was a student living in Stanley Hall who jumped out of the window when he heard the noise of the murders. Nobody knows where he is."

 

"Probably offed himself." Brenda said, idly examining her nails. 

 

This is normal, Sam thought, for us at least. Taking about dead people like it's nothing. Fuck I hope they don't find out about Damon yet...Even though Dean had told him to act normal, Sam still couldn't help but examine his three friends closely from where he was sitting in his armchair. Did they have any motives? He didn't know a lot about Natalie, so the only thing he could come up with jealousy, possibly over Damon and Sam's relationship. But that didn't explain why Michelle Mancini had been killed. Besides, he and Natalie weren't exactly that close so she'd have no reason to murder Damon out of jealousy.

 

Then there was Brenda, who, as far as Sam was concerned, was the last person in the world who he could think of committing murders. She was too damn bubbly and full of life. Besides, he couldn't think of a motive for her.

 

And then there was Paul, who hadn't come to his dorm room before Sam had gone out last night. As a bloodthirsty reporter, Paul had the strongest motive out of all of them. Fame, book deals, Pulitzer awards. It wouldn't be that far fetched to assume that he was killing people after urban legends to get a novel under his belt.

 

He thought of Parker and Sasha and frowned, starting to feel hideously wrong for thinking of his friends as criminals. Parker he could see, especially since, in all his homophobia, he hated Sam. Well...that accounted for Damon's death at least. And Sasha...no way was Sam going to think about that. Sasha was too damn important to him. 

 

Sam shook his head. This was only making him more miserable by the second.

 

"You okay?" Natalie asked from the sofa she shared with Brenda. 

 

Sam nodded, starting to feel slightly nauseous. He needed to get some air.

 

"I'll see you in class." He said, getting to his feet. "I'm...uh, not feeling too well." Natalie nodded, giving him a strange look. This day was getting stranger by the second. Sam didn't know where he was heading until he left the lounge. His feet took him in the direction of the library. He needed to see Dean right now. Class wasn't for another thirty minutes and he was sure he'd be able to have a few moments with his brother before heading off to Wexler's class. Then again, he could just skip and spend the whole morning with Dean. The last thing he wanted this morning was too sit in a class that only yesterday Damon has been attending and talk about urban legends. 

 

He was just outside the library when he saw Parker storming towards him, Sasha trailing behind and talking rapidly, her expression a mixture of annoyance and anger. 

 

Sam knew what was going to happen a split second before it did. Parker threw his fist back and prepared to hit Sam in the side of the face. Suddenly several years of repressed hunter instincts came back and Sam dodged swiftly and backed up several inches. 

 

"YOU FUCKING BASTARD!" Parker roared, causing several students to look around in surprise.

 

"Parker would you calm down?" Sasha said irritably. 

 

"He was out there last night, Sasha! He did it!" Parker took another swing and Sam dodged again. He was not prepared for Parker's other arm to calm flying out of nowhere and hit him in the side of the head. Sam staggered and Parker took that opportunity to shove him bodily to the grass. A crowd was gathering around them now. 

 

"Parker!" Sasha said sharply. "Would you just listen for a moment!? The cops said that even if Sam was with Damon -"

 

"They were fucking, Sash!" Parker spat, glaring at Sam with profound hatred.

 

"Yeah, and?" Sasha was glaring daggers at her boyfriend now. "It's the twenty first century, you dickhead. Who gives a shit what they were doing?"

 

Parker was breathing like a winded rhinoceros, his face getting redder by the second. Sam stayed where he was on the grass, staring levelly at the angered frat boy. He knew getting into a fight with Parker right now would be useless. Besides, Parker wanted Sam to retaliate and Sam was not in the habit of giving someone like Parker what he wanted. 

 

"Damon was my friend!" Parker cried.

 

"No he wasn't." Sam said quietly before he could stop himself. "He wasn't your friend, Parker. He told me all about the shit you've been doing to him ever since that stunt with the sorority girl."

 

"What sorority girl?" Sasha glared at Parker suspiciously.

 

"You didn't know?" Sam asked in mock surprise. "Your man here tried to pressure Damon into having sex with a sorority girl a few months ago." Sasha glared at Parker.

 

Parker's face contorted in fury.

 

"I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU!" He screamed, lunging at Sam.

 

"Easy there McFrat." From somewhere in the crowd, Dean appeared, pulling Parker back by the scruff of his shirt and throwing him into the circle of people. He flashed a grin at Sam before reaching out and hand to help him up. Sam smiled gratefully and got to his feet. "Nobody beats up my brother except me."

 

Parker whirled to face Dean, his face red. 

 

"This is between me and him!" Parker spat.

 

Dean shook his head. 

 

"Yeah, see that's where you'd be wrong...again. Although I'm pretty damn sure Sam could kick your ass if he really wanted too, I'd rather not have him risk his education on some stupid little frat-tard like you."

 

Damn, Dean was good. 

 

Parker glared at Dean, not noticing Sasha giggling behind him at Dean's insult. 

 

"Then I'll kick your ass too!" Parker fumed. 

 

"Yes, because you and your sweater vest are very intimidating." Dean mocked.

 

"YOUR FUCKING FAGGOT BROTHER KILLED MY FRIEND!" Parker screamed.

 

If looks could kill, Sam was pretty sure Parker would be dead a thousand times over by now. Dean's eyes flashed with deadly green fire and he was tense as a bowstring, waiting to strike Parker down. Sam was all for letting him do it, but someone beat him to the punch. 

 

"No more sex. Ever again." Sasha said icily. All the fight went out of Parker. He turned to stare in horror at the blonde who was glaring daggers at him. She turned on her heel and stormed away, her blonde hair shining in the early morning sunlight. Parker gaped after her, turned to give Sam and Dean a venomous glare and then sprinted after Sasha who was out of sight by this point. 

 

The crowed dispersed, most of them muttering about what Parker had said. 

 

Sam grinned appreciatively at his older brother who was watching Parker's rapidly retreating figure with pure loathing on his handsome face. 

 

"Thanks." Sam said quietly. "That's the second time you've saved my ass in twenty four hours."

 

Dean chuckled. "You could've taken him, Sam. I'm pretty sure of it."

 

Sam wasn't paying attention. He was too busy watching the students whispering among themselves. While he didn't give a rat's ass what they thought about his sexual preference, he felt unease creep over him. Parker had just revealed that Damon was dead. In the distance, Sam saw the police cars pull up to the faculty building. Dean put a hand on his shoulder. 

 

"It'll be okay, Sammy." Dean said.

 

Sam shook his head. Things were going to get worse before they got better. As the bell for classes rang, Sam turned to the library, all thought of his folk lore class gone. He was needed here with Dean to research whatever they could and stop this motherfuck before they could kill again. 

 

And if the killer turned out to be one Parker Riley well...Sam was seriously going to enjoy bringing the bastard down.


	7. Shedding A Little Light

  
Author's notes: **Sam and Dean do some research. New of Damon's death reaches the campus at large. Natalie reveals something to Sam and Brenda.**  


* * *

Sam and Dean hurried into the library, conscious of the curious stares of the other students, most of whom had witnessed the little scene between Sam and Parker outside. Sam was quite far from giving a shit about what they thought, but it was still a little annoying to notice them whispering about him behind their hands as though they didn't notice. 

 

"We need to find a private place." Dean said through gritted teeth.

 

"There's a table near the New Age section." Sam answered, nodding in the direction of the library where Dean had first met Sasha only twenty four hours ago. With a nod, Dean grabbed Sam by the wrist and lead him over to the secluded table far from the prying eyes of the other students. Sam sat down heavily and took a deep breath, still mildly shell shocked by how much had happened in the space of one day. 

 

"You okay?" Dean asked him, his gaze worried. 

 

Sam nodded and grinned halfheartedly. "I'll be alright. It's just a little...fucked up how much is happening lately." Dean nodded but still maintained his look of concern. Sam rolled his eyes. He would be the first to admit that all the events that had transpired since he'd had his vision were incredibly hard to deal with in such a short space of time, but he wasn't a little kid anymore. He could deal with this. Besides, they had research to do and the longer they spent worrying about Sam's mental state the worse the farther the killer would get from their grasp. 

 

"Dean, I'm fine, really." Sam said his tone insistent and just the smallest bit impatient. "I wanna catch this son of a bitch before they kill someone else. Kay?"

 

Dean nodded, but still didn't look convinced. Sam shook his head but grinned slightly. Dean was such a mother hen, though he'd probably never admit to it if the subject was brought up. 

 

"Where do we start?" Dean asked, rubbing the back of his neck. "I didn't exactly get anywhere with the research yesterday."

 

Sam grimaced. "I'm about as lost as you are."

 

"Might as well examine the facts." Dean said, pulling out a small notebook from inside his bag and _The Encyclopedia of Urban Legends_ and setting them in front of them on the table. "So far we've got The Backseat Killer," Dean made a note on a fresh page, "which killed Michelle Mancini. And then there's the Lover's Lane legend which killed Damon." He made another note and shook his head. "This is pretty bare bones, Sam. We don't know a lot."

 

"We know more than most people." Sam said with a sigh. "I was a witness to the murders, remember?"

 

Dean cocked his head to the side. "Murders? You were only around for Damon's murder, Sam."

 

_Shit,_ Sam thought, feeling his heart sink. He hadn't told Dean about the vision he'd had the other night. And if Dean was getting all upset over Sam seeing Damon killed, he'd probably be in full on protective mode if Sam told him about his vision of Michelle's murder. Sam pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. Right now they needed all the help they could get, although Sam could hardly see how having a vision of the first murder would help them in the least. 

 

"Don't get excited," Sam began slowly, "but uh...I kind of...had some sort of weird nightmare vision of Michelle's murder the night before you showed up."

 

_Now I’ve done it,_ Sam thought, _Dean's gonna have a total bitch fit now. Should've just kept my mouth shut._ When he finally chanced to look up at his brother, he saw that his fears were justified. Dean looked both angry and worried. 

 

"Please don't freak out." Sam said quietly. 

 

Dean shook his head. "Its fine Sam. Just...I wish you'd told me earlier."

 

"I didn't want you getting all mother hen on me."

 

Dean glowered at him darkly and then shook his head again. "Whatever. I can't help but get all protective on you Sammy. Especially now. If you really did see Michelle's murder then...well..." Dean trailed off and suddenly looked as though he wished he hadn't said anything at all. Sam knew why. The thought had crossed his mind ever since he'd realized one of his friends could possibly be at the bottom of the murders. 

 

"You think I'm the target." Sam said as though it was a throw away statement of no real importance. 

 

Dean shrugged. "It's possible."

 

Sam nodded. "Yeah. I know." 

 

"How much of Michelle's death did you see?"

 

"All of it. The gas station, the beheading...everything. It was like a movie or something. Thought it was just a nightmare til I heard the news report."

 

Dean clenched his jaw tightly and patted the back of Sam's hand. 

 

"I don't mean to be worried." He said softly. "It's just...these visions haven't exactly been random things in the past."

 

Sam nodded again and then sat up straighter in his chair, pulling the book towards him. He opened the cover and looked down at the list of people who had checked the book out previously. It felt faintly weird to see Damon's name on the check out list. A glance over the card showed him that Brenda had checked it out before Damon. He frowned. 

 

"That's weird." He muttered.

 

"What?" Dean asked, sitting forward.

 

"Brenda checked the book out before Damon...but she's also in my folk lore class so..." He trailed off and glanced at the date. He chuckled. "Never mind. She checked it out five days ago, which was before Professor Wexler told us we were going to need this book for class." Damn he was getting jumpy. 

 

"What do you think Damon wanted with it?" Dean asked.

 

Sam shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe he lost his copy or something, but I don't see why he would check it back in. Not unless he found it again." He shook his head. This was getting them nowhere. He turned to the dog-eared pages and grimaced when he saw the illustration for the Lover's Lane murder. "Our books don't have illustrations." Sam said with a frown. "The style of these drawings looks familiar." On a hunch, he turned to the table of contents and found where the Babysitter legend was listed. Upon turning to the indicated page, he let out a small gasp.

 

"What is it?" Dean asked.

 

"This picture...the whole damn drawing style looked familiar but I couldn't place it until just now. These are the same pictures that Professor Wexler used for the projection slide in class yesterday." 

 

"Did he check the book out?" Dean asked, leaning in and looking at the black and white illustration. Sam checked the index card and shook his head. 

 

"No. The only people who checked this out who are actually in my class were Brenda and Damon."

 

"Maybe Brenda checked it out for Wexler?" Dean suggested. 

 

Sam shrugged and then looked at the next bookmarked page. It was an illustration of a young woman in dark room, staring in horror at the wall in front of her. Laying on the bed under the wall was another young woman, he throat slit. On the wall in grisly writing, presumably written in the dead girl's blood was the phrase "Aren't you glad you didn't turn on the light?"

 

Sam shuddered and shut the book. He felt Dean put a hand on his shoulder comfortingly.

 

"We can stop if you want too." Dean said softly. 

 

Sam shook his head. 

 

"No. We need to keep going." 

 

Dean nodded. "Where should we start?"

 

"Ghosts." Sam said. "And I guess demons and ancient entities. You never know with shit like this." Dean nodded again and the two of them got to their feet to peruse the New Age section. Since this particular area of the library was small, they didn't find as much as they would've hoped for. Dean managed to procure two books, one about demonic possession and one about ghosts, while Sam found a book on ancient beings and pagan rituals. 

 

It was slow, boring work. Sam honestly wondered if he was going to find anything useful in either book. Most of the stuff detailed in them could probably be found in the contents of his father's ratty old leather bound journal. Usually he loved the research aspect of hunting, but now that this case was taking on a personal twist he just wanted to be out there killing the shit out of whatever was responsible for this. 

 

Once or twice he glanced up at his brother only to find his brother deep in concentration. Sam could almost laugh at how their roles had reversed. Usually he was the one who was burying his nose in the pages of some dusty old tome while Dean was itching to be shooting some kind of dark horror in the face. Shaking his head, Sam looked down at the copy of _Entities of the Ancient World_ and tried to focus on the passage he was reading.

 

_...while the Ancient Greeks feared and respected the Furies, some also believed that they could be harnessed for magical purposes. Some theories suggest that a person seeking vengeance could call upon one of the three Furies, Tisiphone for revenge of a murder, Megaera for revenge of infidelity and Alecto for revenge against one who has angered the summoner. Although evidence is scarce, certain Neo-Pagan groups staunchly believe that summoning the Furies is possible and that they can exact vengeance any way the summoner..._

 

"Find anything interesting?" Dean asked. 

 

Sam stretched. "Nope. Not unless you count the Ancient Greek version of Hole being summoned by Neo-Pagans." 

 

Dean chuckled. "All I got was pretty much what I already know. Ghosts and demons...it's all elementary school stuff to us."

 

Sam sighed. "So much for research then."

 

Dean patted his hand reassuringly. "Don't give up yet, Sam. We'll find something."

 

Sam smiled faintly but knew that Dean was just trying to make him feel better. He was grateful for that, but at the same time he really just wanted to get out and do something so that nobody else would be killed. 

 

"I wish Dad was here." Sam muttered. He blinked. Had he really just said that? He looked up at Dean apologetically and was not surprised to see Dean giving him a flat look.

 

"You don't mean that." Dean said. 

 

"You're right." Sam said. "I didn't. It's just frustrating, y'know?"

 

Dean nodded. "I know."

 

Sam smiled at his brother and leaned in for a hug when a loud buzzing filled the library. Sam frowned. That was the signal for an intercom message, which they usually only got in case there was an emergency. 

 

"All students please head to the auditorium for an important message from the dean."

 

"Oh shit." Sam buried his face in his hands. "Damon. This is about him."

 

Dean grimaced and helped Sam to his feet. "C'mon," he said, "we might as well go and see what they say."

 

"What if they really think I did it?" Sam said, feeling his hands begin to shake at the prospect of going to prison. 

 

"They won't." Dean said firmly. 

 

Together they joined the throng of students who, unlike them, were looking puzzled and just a bit worried. Some of them glanced at Sam and muttered to their friends, obviously thinking this was to do with the little scuffle between him and Parker that had taken place in front of the library. 

 

As he and Dean headed out towards the building that housed the main theater, Sam felt himself begin to go into panic mode and once or twice had to suppress the urge to grab Dean's hand for support. It probably wouldn't be a very good thing to have this kind of display of affection in public, especially when Sam was sure he was going to be going to the slammer after the assembly. 

 

"I'm gonna stick out like a sore thumb." Dean muttered as they neared the large brick building near the faculty office. "Maybe I should sit at the back."

 

"You're not leaving me alone in there." Sam hissed, barely disguising the anxiety in his voice. "Nobody's gonna say anything, alright? We've got people who aren't students coming in and out of here all the time."

 

"Like who?"

 

"Family. And reporters sometimes. People wanting to see how the school's doing."

 

They filed in through the big double doors. Sam glanced around and managed to make out the back of Natalie's flaming red hair next to the bushy mass of curls that was the back of Brenda's head. They were too far away for him to tap on the shoulder and were engrossed in a whispered conversation similar to the one Sam and Dean had shared. They probably wouldn't notice him if he called. Besides, right at the moment he wanted to be as close to Dean as possible. He felt safer that way. 

 

The auditorium was packed full of students, all of whom carried similar looks of concern and confusion. Sam noticed Parker sitting near the back as he and Dean came in and avoided the other boy's gaze. Not out of fear. Sam wasn't remotely afraid of Parker, but he'd rather not risk another scene like that one outside the library. He managed to find Sasha, who was sitting near the front row. She noticed Sam and Dean, smiled and waved for them to take the two seats next to her. 

 

Taking his brother's hand, Sam led them to the seats next to Sasha and sat down.

 

"I didn't think they'd release the news of Damon's death this early." Sasha whispered, glancing nervously at the stage where the dean and most of the faculty were standing looking grave with several police officers and members of campus security next to them. Sam tried hard not to look at them too long, still fearing every second that he was going to end up in jail because of Parker. 

 

Sasha noticed his anxiety and patted his hand comfortingly. 

 

"Don't worry, Sammy." She said. 

 

"I've been trying to tell him that." Dean muttered. 

 

Sasha grinned bracingly. "As far as I could tell from all Parker's rambling, the cops aren't going to put anybody away until they've collected enough concrete evidence."

 

"What did they find?" Sam asked before he could stop himself.

 

Sasha shrugged. "No idea. I don't think their taking Parker's accusation seriously, though."

 

"Accusation?" Dean asked, a dark look passing over his handsome face. Sam felt himself go cold. So Parker had told the cops about his being out there with Damon last night. 

 

The blonde bit her lip and glanced back. All the seats in the auditorium were filled with students. The assembly would begin any second now. 

 

"Parker kinda...told the police he thought that Sam was the killer."

 

"I'll kill him!" Dean spat angrily. 

 

"Calm down, muscle man." Sasha said with a small grin. "They investigators didn't really seem convinced. I think they think Parker's just reacting out of grief, although I don't see why. It's not like he and Damon were particularly close, even if they were frat brothers." 

 

The dean stepped up to the podium and dead silence fell over the assembled students. 

 

"It's with a heavy heart that I must announce that early this morning the police found the body of Mr. Damon Brooks in the woods near the Theta Delta Fraternity House."

 

There were several gasps from the students and a new buzz of conversation began that instantly died when the dean resumed talking.

 

"In light of recent events," Sam was sure he was talking about Michelle Mancini's murder, "campus security has decided to issue a curfew of ten o'clock at night. Please be advised that this is being done for your safety. Also, the clearing in the woods behind the fraternity house is considered a crime scene so please steer clear of it." The dean's gaze swept to a specific student. Sam turned in his seat and saw the dean was obviously addressing Paul, who already had a look of anticipation on his face. 

 

"I'm sure many of you knew Mr. Brooks," the dean continued, "and our guidance counselors will be available to talk to any of you should you feel the need -

 

"Was it an urban legend style murder?" Paul's voice interrupted. Most of the students turned to stare at him. Natalie and Brenda, who were sitting either side of Paul looked mortified. 

 

"That is neither here, no there, Mr. Gardener." The dean replied icily. "Please treat this matter with some sensitivity. Now then...you all have classes to attend. Good afternoon." 

 

For several seconds, the students simply sat, stunned by the abrupt end to the assembly and by the news of another murder. Then they started to stand up and file out of the auditorium. 

 

"Look at Wexler!" Sasha hissed. 

 

Sam and Dean both looked in unison up at the stage where they saw Professor Wexler conversing rapidly with the dean and several of the police officers. He looked uncomfortable and Sam noticed his hands were shaking. 

 

"What do you make of it, Ms. Body Language?" Dean asked Sasha, who grinned and then stood with them to join the mass of students leaving the room. 

 

"He's obviously affected by this in a big way." Sasha said. "Though judging from how the dean and the cops seemed to be questioning him, I'm sure they might be worried that he's involved somehow."

 

"Maybe he's the killer?" Dean suggested.

 

Sasha shrugged. "Could be."

 

Sam said nothing. He thought back to what Brenda had said earlier the previous day, about it being odd that Wexler's seminar on urban legends started at pretty much the same time the murders started occurring. Even if Wexler wasn't involved, supernaturally or otherwise, was it so far fetched to think that perhaps one of his students had been a little too over-eager in their studies?

 

As Sam, Sasha and Dean left the building, they heard someone calling Sam's name. Sam turned and saw Brenda rushing toward him, her limp seemingly gone and her eyes over bright. She pulled Sam into a tight hug. 

 

"I can't believe it!" She said, suppressing a sob. "D-Damon...I mean, yeah he was a complete douche, but holy shit! This is...oh my God...and that Mancini girl in like less than two days!"

 

"I know." Sam said, patting her comfortingly on the back. "It's...a lot too take in, huh?"

 

Brenda looked up at him, her eyes brimming with tears. Then she let out a small moan and hugged him again. 

 

"Oh fuck!" She sobbed, "I just remembered you were out there with him last night, weren't you?"

 

Sam nodded. 

 

"I'm so sorry, Sam! You must be post traumatic by now!"

 

"M'fine, Brenda." Sam said, starting to feel a little embarrassed. "Really."

 

She nodded and let go, turning and nodding at Sasha and Dean, who were gazing on awkwardly. 

 

"Where's Nat?" Sam asked.

 

Brenda turned around and peered into the crowd and then pointed to the stairs beside the auditorium. Natalie was sitting by them on a stone bench, her head in her hands, her long red hair obscuring her face. Sam bit his lip and turned to Sasha and Dean. 

 

"Look," he said, "could you guys maybe meet me later? I'm gonna go see Natalie."

 

They both nodded. Dean lingered, giving Sam a curious look.

 

"Don't worry," Sam said, hastily. "I'm still coming back to the motel. Just...come to my dorm room when you're ready to leave."

 

Dean nodded again and followed Sasha in the direction of the library. 

 

Together, Sam and Brenda hurried to Natalie's side. The bell for lunch hour rang out. Sam had lost track of time in the library and thought it mildly amusing that most of the students had been called from their classes twenty minutes before lunch hour. 

 

Natalie did not look up at them right away. She sat with her head down, breathing deeply. She wasn't crying, as far as Sam could tell, but there was no doubt that something was upsetting her. 

 

Tentatively, he rubbed her back in a way that he hoped would calm her down. After a minute she looked up at the both of them and took a deep breath.

 

"You okay?" Sam asked.

 

Natalie shook her head. 

 

"No." She said, her voice hoarse and low.

 

Sam glanced at Brenda, not knowing what to say. The brunette was clutching the end of her necklace, her eyes bright with concern for Natalie. 

 

"What's wrong?" Sam asked.

 

Natalie took a deep breath again.

 

"You were there last night, weren't you?" she asked. Sam blinked. Natalie's tone was not accusing. As a matter of fact she seemed to be genuinely curious. Sam looked at Brenda again. She shrugged and then nodded, obviously thinking the truth was better than lying. 

 

"Yeah Nat...I was..." Sam said gently. 

 

Natalie smiled wryly. "Don't be so nervous, Sam. I get what happened with you and Damon. I mean...you're a nice guy and everything but this...relationship...I never really thought of you as a more than a friend."

 

Sam grinned in spit of himself. At least he and Natalie had been on the same page about their charade of a relationship. 

 

"Was...was it really...and urban legend murder?" Natalie asked, her breath hitching. 

 

Sam bit his lip. He saw out of the corner of his eye that Brenda was looking at him intently. She obviously wanted to know too. 

 

"Yeah..." He said. "The Lover's Lane legend. You know...the one where the guy goes to get gas and leaves his girlfriend in the car."

 

"And she hears noises from the roof." Brenda said. Sam nodded. "Jesus Christ, Sam..." Brenda murmured her eyes bright again. "How the hell are you still sane?

 

"No idea." Sam replied. Natalie said nothing, but stared out over the quad, her eyes distant, her expression unreadable. Sam wished he had Sasha's ability to read body language. Obviously these deaths were affecting Natalie more than she was letting on. He thought back to the previous day. She'd seemed incredibly upset at Michelle Mancini's murder, more upset than the rest of them. Sam had attributed that to Natalie being more sensitive, but there had to be something more for her to be acting this way. 

 

"I knew Michelle Mancini." Natalie said in an off hand voice. 

 

Sam felt his jaw drop and heard Brenda let out a gasp beside him. 

 

"Are you serious?" Brenda asked.

 

Natalie nodded.

 

"We were friends in high school, both of us on the cheerleading team."

 

"Why didn't you say anything?" Sam asked her in amazement. 

 

Natalie sighed. "Because for the passed two years I've been trying to forget about her." 

 

"Why?" Both Sam and Brenda asked at the same time.

 

Natalie inhaled deeply and when she spoke next, her tone was not laden with sorrow or regret. It was bitter and filled with self loathing. "It was before graduation. We were coming back from visiting a friend late one night and we were driving down this stretch of deserted road in my car. Michelle was at the wheel because I'd had a little to drink at our friend's place. She started telling me about this urban legend, about how gangs would travel empty back roads with their headlights off and when the first car that drove passed flashed their high beams to signal to them to turn their lights on they would drive them off the road. Ever heard of it?"

 

Sam nodded. He'd remembered hearing something like this when he was still living with Dean and his father. 

 

"Well," Natalie continued in the same tone, still staring out over the quad, "we drove on for a few minutes after she told me the legend. Then...we saw another car approaching, driving in the opposite lane. Michelle...she...she looked kinda...crazy. She turned the lights of the car off and kept driving. We were both laughing like hyenas. Fuck, what the hell was wrong with me? I thought it was funny and just about busted a gut when the other driver flashed his high beams. Even when Michelle turned into the other lane and started chasing the car down, I just laughed like crazy. Then...we were getting closer and closer and...I could see his face...he was our age...and he looked really scared...I tried telling Michelle to stop but...she just...she kept going and then..."

 

Natalie let out a small moan and buried her face in her hands again. Sam slid off of the bench, knelt down in front of her and hugged her tightly as she shook with suppressed sobs. After a moment, she calmed down, thanked Sam and shook her hair out of her face. 

 

"Michelle drove him off the word and his car flipped. He died at the scene. The cops put us on probation because we were still minors. Just a few hundred hours of community service. We never spoke again after that. I thought I'd never see her again and...well...now that this is happening I can't help but feel like...like I deserve it somehow..."

 

Sam glanced at Brenda and saw that she was staring at her best friend with her eyes wide, her hand clutching her necklace even tighter. 

 

"You didn't do anything wrong..." Sam said, although he didn't really feel what he was saying was true. "You weren't-

 

"I wasn't driving." Natalie finished for him, her tone still bitter. "But it was my car, Sam. And I was there. I could've stopped her and I didn't. I mean...I know this is horrible but I wasn't terribly upset to hear about her death, y'know? It's...fitting in some way. But Damon...why couldn't the killer have come for me?"

 

"Maybe the will." Brenda said. Sam and Natalie gave her looks of surprise. Brenda blinked and shook her head. "Oh fuck, Nat that was awful. I'm sorry. It's just..."

 

"Maybe you're right." Natalie said thoughtfully. "I wonder what urban legend I'll be."

 

"Gerbilling?" Sam suggested, trying to cheer her up. "Or maybe you'll find an alligator in your toilet bowl."

 

Natalie laughed, smiling at Sam. "Damn," she said, "why are all the nice ones into guys?"

 

Sam chuckled, hugging her once more. "You'll be fine, Nat. I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

 

"Me either." Brenda said. "I'd like to see that son of a bitch try and get through me. My body is a dangerous weapon."

 

"Especially when co-ordination is involved." Sam muttered. Brenda punched him in the shoulder but grinned nonetheless. 

 

"Thanks guys." Natalie said quietly. "I guess...I guess I've just got survivor's guilt or something." She glanced across the quad again and suddenly a thoughtful gleam came into her eyes. "Where's Paul?"

 

"Probably scouring the crime scene." Sam said, rolling his eyes. "Why?"

 

"I think I should tell him about me and Michelle. It might lure the killer out."

 

"You're not using yourself as bait, girlie." Brenda said warningly. "I won't let you."

 

"Tough." Natalie said with a smirk. Brenda glared at Natalie and then shook her head. "Look," she said, "lunch is almost over and we've got a class next, Nat. Let's go get some food. It might make you feel better."

 

Natalie nodded and stood up. "Wanna join us?" she asked Sam.

 

Sam shook his head. "No, I need to meet up with my brother and Sasha in the library."

 

"Sasha's with your brother?" Brenda asked, looking furious. "Ugh. It's not fair!"

 

Sam shook his head and watched them go, feeling incredibly uneasy. Natalie's revelation had put a whole new spin on the case he and Dean were trying to solve. It made sense to bump off Michelle after what she'd done. But Damon...he was innocent. Unless the killer wanted to get to Natalie through her friends. If that was the case and Natalie was the intended target, then that meant that Sam's theory about himself being the one the killer was after came to nothing and he was in as much danger as anybody else Natalie so much as talked too.


	8. Aren't You Glad You Didn't Turn on the Light?

  
Author's notes: **Sam, Dean and Sasha talk and Dean gets arrested. Sam tells Sasha about his relationship with Dean and their first time. Another murder is committed. So sorry for the long wait, but the chapter is nice and long and contains some Weecest to make up for the delay.**  


* * *

Despite being rattled by Natalie's revelation, Sam managed to shake off the feeling of being a deer in the headlights in a matter of seconds. Honestly, he felt an odd sense of morbid relief. Knowing that he wasn't the killer's intended target obviously made him feel a little better, but it was at the expense that Natalie would be the one being victimized instead of him and the hunter in Sam couldn't stand by and let an innocent person suffer. 

 

So, after a few second of sitting and merely staring across the quad, he got to his feet and headed off in the direction of the library, trying to figure out exactly what their next step was. He and Dean had barely managed to scratch the surface in their research and Sam wondered if maybe, just maybe, the killer was a regular human being and his visions were now extending beyond the supernatural and to the commonplace. It wasn't something he particularly cared to admit. Visions of monsters and demons were one thing, but if he would be damned if he was going to become the Miss Cleo of the crime fighting world. 

 

Sasha and Dean were sitting at the table that Sam and Dean had previously occupied before the assembly. She looked a little confused and Sam suddenly felt panic rising in his throat. Of course Sasha had no idea what he and Dean really were and she probably wouldn't be too keen on hearing theories of demonic possession. He half jogged over to the table and slid into the chair next to Dean, his heart hammering. 

 

"You and your brother certainly have...interesting tastes." Sasha said, gesturing at the open books on the table. 

 

Sam grinned, trying to sound nonchalant. 

 

"Yeah, well...y'know. Ghosts are cool." Damn that sounded lame, even to him. Beside him he saw Dean roll his eyes. Sam wondered how long Dean had been in here trying to explain himself to Sasha. 

 

Sasha snorted. "Ghosts are cool?" She repeated in disbelief. "You've never shown a lot of interest in things that go bump in the night before now." She eyed them carefully and glanced back down at the books on the table. Sam could practically hear her mind turning, trying to piece things together. After a second, Sasha shook her head and ran her hands through her long blonde hair. "This...this stuff is related to the murders, isn't it?"

 

Sam turned to Dean, who looked as torn as Sam felt. On one hand, telling Sasha the truth might give them the added benefit of having her help them unravel the murders, but if they tried explaining themselves she'd probably think they were nuts. Sam had seen it happen one too many times before with people his father and Dean had tried to let in on their line of work. Until people actually saw proof of the supernatural with their own eyes, they tended to be skeptical and Sasha, with her interest in human psychology, probably didn't believe in ghosts and monsters. 

 

"Well?" Sasha asked, eying them pointedly. 

 

"We think it does." Dean finally admitted with a small sigh. 

 

Sasha shook her head and leaned back in her chair. 

 

"We're not entirely sure." Sam added hastily. "It's just...well...we don't really have anything to go on and we thought that maybe there was something...y'know, not entirely normal behind everything."

 

"And you're taking it upon yourselves to solve two brutal murders because...?" Sasha was giving both Sam and Dean a droll look that suggested she was highly amused by this. "Look, as much as I like you boys I really don't like being kept in the dark about important stuff, especially when it involves people I know." 

 

Sam bit his lip. 

 

"We're not asking you to help, you know." Dean said darkly. "It's not my fault you caught me with my pants down here." Sam glanced at him in bewilderment and Dean, realizing the awkwardness of his metaphor, shook his head hastily and added, "Figuratively, Sammy."

 

Sasha chuckled and then took to gazing at the book in front of her pensively. After a long while of silent deliberation, she said, "I'd really like it if you could at least tell me a little bit. I'm not entirely skeptical when it comes to ghosts and shit." 

 

Again, Sam and Dean glanced at each other, not entirely sure what to do. 

 

"I don't think the answer is in your brother's eyes." Sasha said with just the smallest hint of teasing in her voice. She leaned forward and gave them a serious stare. "Look, I'm not saying I'm going to go all Nancy Drew here, but I'd like to help. Damon was my friend too." Her eyes met Sam's when she said that and he felt slightly sheepish. Of course Sasha was probably just as upset as he was at Damon's murder. He nodded slowly and then, glancing around to make sure they weren't being overheard, edged his chair closer to Sasha. 

 

"We've had...experience with stuff like this in the past." Sam said. He glanced again at Dean, who was sitting back in his chair with his arms folded, looking at Sasha thoughtfully. 

 

"Experience?" Sasha asked, arching an eyebrow. "What? Did you get possessed and start puking up pea soup?"

 

Sam chuckled. "Not exactly. Remember when I told you that I ran away from home because of my family's profession?"

 

Sasha nodded. "That was like two weeks after I met you." 

 

"Yeah. Well...my Dad and Dean hunt demons and ghosts for a living."

 

"Like the Ghostbusters?" Sasha seemed to take Sam's announcement remarkably well. Then again, maybe she was just reserving judgement until she got to the asylum and gave the orderlies their names. 

 

"Kind of," said Dean, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table, "just not as...scientific. We battle them with their own stuff. Magic and exorcism and guns and shit like that. We've been doing it since Sammy was a baby."

 

Sasha nodded. "Okay...and you think that these urban legend murders are supernatural?"

 

Both Sam and Dean nodded. 

 

Sasha bit her lip. Sam was still worried that she thought he and Dean had flown over the cuckoo's nest. He tried meeting Sasha's eyes, willing her to believe that they were telling the truth through eye contact. She was so good at reading body language and he tried to show that he wasn't lying. 

 

_Please believe us..._ he thought, wondering why he was even bothering since Sasha wasn't telepathic...as far as he knew, anyway. 

 

After several seconds of silence, Sasha nodded again. 

 

"I believe you." She said. 

 

Sam blinked. "Really?"

 

Sasha nodded again. "Yeah," she said, sounding more sure of herself than before, "I do. I...don't really know why but...it seems to make sense that something at least mildly unnatural is happening here. I mean, the killer would either have to be really really fortunate for circumstances to line up as they have or the victims would have to be really stupid. I can't speak for Michelle Mancini, but since Damon is in Wexler's urban legend seminar, he would probably at least recognize and urban legend scenario." 

 

"And he did check out that book." Dean said, nodding to _The Encyclopedia of Urban Legends_. 

 

"Yeah...that still doesn't make sense." Sam said. 

 

Sasha reached forward and picked up the old book, turning to the index card. She examined it carefully and the grinned slightly. 

 

"I remember now." She smiled slightly, her eyes still on the inside cover. "It was something Parker said about Stanley Hall."

 

"What?" Both Sam and Dean asked sharply.

 

Sasha rolled her eyes. "Parker was joking around with the other frat boys that Stanley Hall was so famous that Wexler would be teaching it in his seminar and that it was in this book. I saw Damon with this when I went over to the frat house after the radio show one night. He seemed kinda disappointed that Stanley Hall wasn't in here." 

 

"So that rules him out of any suspicious activity." Sam said in relief. "And Brenda checked it out because she was making slides for the class."

 

Sasha nodded and set the book down. 

 

"So what do you guys figure?" She asked. "Ghosts? Demons? Voodoo dolls?"

 

"We haven't got a hell of a lot." Dean said, sounding frustrated. "I'm placing my money on ghosts. Revenge or something like that."

 

Sam sat up straighter in his chair so fast that both Dean and Sasha jumped. How the hell could he have forgotten, seeing as how he'd found out only a half an hour ago?

 

"I think I might have a lead." He said. Dean and Sasha stared at him intently, waiting for him to go on. He took a deep breath and said, "Natalie knew Michelle Mancini. They were friends in high school."

 

Dean let out a low breath and Sasha's jaw dropped. 

 

"You're kidding!" Sasha said in complete shock. "How the fuck is she keeping it together?"

 

"No idea," Sam said, "but it gets better." And he told them exactly all that Natalie had revealed to him and Brenda outside. When Sam got to the part about the car chase, Dean opened _The Encyclopedia of Urban Legends_ and turned to the table of contents. He opened the book to a particular page and showed it to Sasha and Sam. On the left page was the title _The Gang High Beam Initiation_ and on the opposite pages was a drawing of a young woman in the driver's seat of car, looking in her review mirror at a car speeding behind her, it's light's on full blast. 

 

"Jesus Christ." Sasha said. "That girl's got some serious demons."

 

"She can't. Not with the amount of salt I've seen her put on her french fries." Sam said, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly at the lame joke which was obviously lost on Sasha. 

 

"Anyway," Dean pressed on before Sasha could voice her confusion, "I think this is as good a lead as any. I just wish we knew the name of the kid."

 

Sam grinned slyly. "I think I know how we can find out."

 

"How?" Dean asked. 

 

Sam turned to Sasha and saw comprehension dawn on her face.

 

"Paul?" she said. 

 

Sam nodded. 

 

"Who the hell is that?" Dean asked. 

 

"My roommate." Sam said. "He's a borderline investigative journalist, so he's bound to have some kind of way of dragging up news stories from two years ago."

 

"And we find out this guy's name...then what?" Sasha asked. 

 

Dean grinned. "Then it's time for a heavy duty seance."

 

Sam smiled. Things were starting to look up after all. Dean's eyes met his and he smiled warmly. Sam's spirit, among another thing, lifted as he met his brother's eyes. Oh yeah. This definitely called for some heavy duty victory making out. 

 

"Shit." Sasha muttered, her eyes wide as she looked over Sam's shoulder. Sam and Dean turned in their seats and Sam felt his blood go cold. Three police officers were conversing shortly with the librarian, who was looking around the library with her neck craned. She pointed to the back where they were sitting and the officers moved in their direction. All three of them got to their feet and Sam could feel Dean tensing up beside him, preparing to run.

 

Sasha shook her head. "Don't. That'll make you look guilty. Just wait til they get here. They might just want to ask some questions."

 

But Sam knew they wouldn't. Parker had obviously made a convincing argument. 

 

The officers approached them and stopped, blinking in surprise. They'd obviously been expecting a little less co-operation. 

 

"Dean Winchester?" A tall, forty-something officer with a scruffy beard asked. 

 

Dean nodded. 

 

The officers glanced at each other, still mildly awed that things were going so smoothly...for now. 

 

"We need to take you into town to answer some questions." The first officer spoke up. 

 

"What's this about?" Sam asked before he could stop himself. 

 

"He's a suspect in the murders of Michelle Mancini and Damon Brooks." 

 

Sasha and Sam glanced at one another uneasily. Sam wanted to say something, anything to make the officers change their minds, but he knew it would be wasted breath. In all honesty they had perfectly good reason to suspect Dean. He'd shown up after Michelle's murder and was an outside on campus, so obviously he'd be a prime suspect regardless of any evidence left behind. 

 

The officer to the man who had spoken took a step forward. On closer inspection, Sam saw that she wasn't a police officer, but a member of campus security. A short, stout black woman with a frame of curly brown hair and sharp brown eyes. 

 

"We just wanna ask him a couple of questions, hon." She said gently. 

 

Sam nodded. 

 

"Reese..." Sasha said, addressing the woman in an unsure voice. 

 

"It's outta my hands, Sasha." Reese said just as gently as before. "They've got a bunch of reasons to suspect this young man. The best you two can do is let the officers take him down to the station and get everything sorted out. If he's innocent, which I'm sure he is," she glared pointedly at the tall police officer, and he looked away uneasily, "then he'll be outta the station by tomorrow morning."

 

"S'okay, Sammy." Dean said, putting a gentle hand on Sam's shoulder. He was eying the two police officers bracingly, as though trying to size up his chances of making a break for it. For a moment, his gaze lingered on Reese. Something in her plaintive look must have reached Dean somehow, because he relaxed a little more and put his hands out in front of him. "Be careful." He said to Sam as the officers slapped the handcuffs on him. 

 

Sam sat down in the chair he'd recently vacated, and watched the officers lead Dean out of the library. People stopped and stared and whispered shamelessly, pointing at him and looking towards the table at the back of the library. He couldn't lose it, not right now. Dean was innocent and he'd be free soon. 

 

But what if he wasn't? What if something went wrong? What if Parker had managed to convince them of Dean's or guilt? Perhaps the killer was waiting to follow the police car down to the station to get at Dean. As these thoughts flashed through Sam's mind, he felt his breathing become labored. No...they couldn't take Dean away. Not after they'd just so recently gotten back on track. Didn't they understand what that meant? 

 

Before he could stop himself, Sam was on his feet, brushing passed Reese who was talking quietly with Sasha. The two of them stopped and stared as Sam dashed towards the entrance of the library, his heart in his throat. He had to stop them before they got to the car. 

 

The late afternoon sunlight was dipping just above the trees and Sam had to shield his eyes for a moment. Blinking, he turned and was just in time to see the police car pull out of the parking lot.

 

"No..." he muttered. "No...Dean..." The car was backing up to make the turn out of the parking lot. Sam broke into a run, not really knowing what he was doing. He could hear Sasha and Reese behind him, calling him back, but he didn't care. "DEAN!!!" He yelled at the top of his lungs, but it was too late. The car had pulled out of the parking lot and was driving down the road. Sam ran a few more feet to, desperate to catch up, but he knew it was useless. He stopped and stood there in the gathering dusk, breathing heavily. 

 

"Dean..." He whispered, feeling the tears start to sting at his eyes. It was all over now. They were going to keep Dean locked up in that fucking jail for days just because Parker had to go and run is stupid little frat boy mouth. Sam made a mental note to break Parker's nose the next time they crossed paths. He heard the crunch of gravel behind him but did not turn around. Sasha laid a warm, small hand on his shoulder and he turned, feeling for the first time the tears sliding down his cheeks. He hadn't been aware that he'd been crying. 

 

"Come on, " Sasha said, nodding towards the quad. Sam looked back at the road, knowing that it was useless to hope for the police car to come back. He nodded, wiping his eyes on the back of his hand and followed Sasha. She said nothing as they walked on, ignoring the passing students who were heading to their dorms or wherever they were going. It didn't matter to Sam. All that mattered was that Dean was gone and Sam was alone in this investigation now, without his big brother to help him. 

 

At first he thought that Sasha was leading him back to his dorm, but he soon realized that they were heading to the student lounge. He half expected to see Parker or even Natalie and Brenda there, but none of them were in sight. Not even Paul was there as was usual for him whenever he was busy doing an article. Sasha said nothing but led him to the seats near the fireplace which were surprisingly vacant. She left him for a few minutes and returned with two mugs of coffee. 

 

Sam took a steady gulp of the hot liquid and felt himself calm down. It was just the way he liked it, not too much cream but enough sugar to make it sweet to the taste. He took a deep, steadying breath and looked at Sasha over the top of his mug. He frowned when he saw that she hadn't touched her cup and was instead giving him an appraising, almost curious stare. He immediately got the sensation that he was standing in a bright spotlight and shifted uncomfortable in the normally comfy chair.

 

"Uh...is something wrong?" He asked. 

 

"What's your relationship with Dean like?" Sasha asked plainly.

 

Sam blinked and suddenly remembered Sasha's expert body language reading ability. Shit. He hadn't been exactly hiding anything from the moment the cops had walked in all through their walk over here. There was no way in hell that she'd guessed...there couldn't be...could there?

 

"We're...brothers?" Sam said, purposefully skirting around the actual implications of the question. "I mean, we're pretty close."

 

"How close is close, Sam?" She didn't sound accusatory. It sounded to Sam as though Sasha had already made up her mind about how close he and Dean were but merely wanted to confirm it. Sam glanced around the lounge. Most of the students, and there was only a handful, were at the bar or sitting at tables around the room, none of them taking the slightest interest in him or Sasha. There was the usual general murmur of conversation and occasional hiss from the coffee machines and the noise from the radio, so the chances of him being overheard were slim. He chanced another glance at Sasha, trying to figure out if telling her was right. She was looking at him with that same appraising expression, but there was no judgement there...yet. He could trust Sasha. 

 

"Okay," Sam began, sitting on the edge of his seat so as to be closer to her, "we're closer than most brothers, alright? Like...Christ, what do you want me to say?"

 

"Are you guys in love?" Sasha asked, with almost academic briskness. 

 

Sam glanced around the room and felt his ears redden a little before he looked Sasha dead in her eyes and said, "Yes, Sasha. We are. Now go ahead and say it. We're freaks, degenerates. We deserve to be cast out and stoned to death in the public square, alright? Jesus Christ, I don't even know how you figured it out." That was a lie, he knew. But it seemed the appropriate thing to say. Besides, he wanted to get it from her exactly how she'd figured it out in the space of a day. 

 

Sasha shrugged. "I'm a sex therapist Sam. I read people, you know that. Maybe it's psychic or something. We were talking about ghosts and whatever, so maybe I do have my own supernatural gift when it comes to this stuff. But...I can just see it whenever you guys are together. There's...I don't know how to explain it. You glow. It's like your whole entire face just lights up and you can't keep your eyes off of him no matter how hard you try. And tonight...Sam, I know that blood is thicker than water and everything, but the way you reacted when the cops took him...it just seemed more appropriate for a lover if that makes sense." She took a sip of her coffee and then pinned him with a piercing stare. "And as for being a degenerate and all that bullshit...well, I'm not gonna lie Sammy. It's...shocking to say the least but...who the hell am I to judge when people are in love?" She paused and cocked her head to the side. "That is what it is isn't it? It's not just some freaky sexual kink?"

 

"No," Sam said, his voice weak from Sasha's tirade, "God, no."

 

They was silence between them for several moments. Sam brought the coffee mug to his lips several times, drinking in such haste that he felt his tongue and throat burn. 

 

Finally Sasha spoke again. "How...how did it happen, if you don't mind me asking."

 

"Hm?" 

 

"How did you two...you know...how did _it_ happen?"

 

Sam leaned back in his chair and stared into the crackling fire, his eyes glowing from the light. After a moment he sighed, set his coffee mug on the table in front of him and leaned forward again. 

 

"I was fourteen," he began in a low voice, "Dean was eighteen. Our Dad was always out hunting and all my life I was dragged around the country in our car, so I never had a lot of time to get to know people. I don't think Dean did either. Well...he didn't seem to care, or at least show that he did. When he got older he would sneak off and spend the night with some girl he'd managed to charm but neither of us really had much more than each other. Our dad..." Sam took a deep breath, swallowing the anger and hurt he felt when talking about his father. "He was more of a drill sergeant than a father most of the time. And it was especially bad with me. Puberty hit me hard and...well, let's just say I didn't mince words about what I thought of the way we lived."

 

Sasha nodded, her chin resting on her hand as she looked steadily down at her coffee mug, although Sam could tell she was listening intently. 

 

"Like I said, Dean and I were all each other had. We were always close for brothers and had to share beds a lot because sometimes Dad couldn't afford places with separate rooms or beds for us." He shook his head, remembering those times and, as shitty as it had been, he'd liked sharing a bed with Dean back then. "Anyway, when I was fourteen, our Dad left me and Dean in this little bungalow in Indiana. I remember that summer was really muggy. I'd been going through a bit of a growth spurt the closer my fifteenth birthday got, but I was still shorter than Dean. We went out exploring one afternoon and we were up on this big hill overlooking the bungalow and it started piss pouring rain." Sam smiled softly, remembering that day, how soft and refreshing the rain had felt. "We ran down the hill, slipping in the mud and getting soaked to the skin. When we finally got home we were both dripping wet."

 

He could see that Sasha was also smiling softly, probably imagining the scene for herself. Sam took another drink of coffee and ran a hand through his hair. Although Sasha had said she wouldn't judge, or something like that, he wasn't sure how she'd take what he had to say next. For him it was more than a memory. It was an experience that had completely altered the course of his life, so sweet at the time and yet it had changed everything between him and Dean. 

 

"We went to our room to change," Sam continued, his voice lower than before as a new cluster of students entered the lounge. "And...I don't know why we did it, Sash, I really don't but we just...we took our wet clothes off and just...lied down on top of the bed we shared together . I wasn't like we hadn't seen each other naked before or anything but...well, there was something different between us. We just lay there..." His voice drifted off as he recalled the way his eyes had met Dean's and held his gaze for what seemed an eternity. Dean was more experienced, more worldly, and Sam, for all his teenage spunk and attitude was still so innocent and naive. "We...we kissed each other...it was...Jesus, it was the most amazing thing I'd ever felt..." It truly had been. Dean's lips were soft, sweet and warm. Sam hadn't been expecting that back then. To him, Dean was always hard, rough, his hands calloused from all the physical work he did. The memory of that first kiss sent a small shiver up Sam's spine. It had started out chaste, almost shy. And then they'd just let everything go and it had become fiery, desperate, full of need and confirmation that this was real and that there was somebody in the world who gave a damn about them. 

 

"It went on from there," Sam went on, not knowing quite how to word to Sasha how it had felt without coming off as fanciful. "I'd been...I mean, I was fourteen and I'd been..."

 

"Don't by shy, Sammy," Sasha said in a breathy voice. "I'm a radio sex therapist, remember? There's not a lot you can say to shame or shock me."

 

Sam chuckled nodded. "Well, I was no stranger to hard on's back then. I mean, I knew about sex and everything but the idea of what it actually felt like...it was beyond anything I was ready for." He remembered how embarrassed he'd felt when he'd become aware of how hard that kiss had made him. He'd turned pink and looked away from Dean, but Dean had forced him to meet his eyes. His hand had taken Sam's and lead it to his own throbbing hard on. Sam had gasped upon first touching his brother's length but that was nothing compared to how it had felt when Dean's hand had found it's way to Sam's cock. The memory of it was enough cause Sam to emit a shaky breath. 

 

"He never...y'know...penetrated me or anything," Sam went on, his voice distant. "It never went beyond hand jobs or blow jobs or anything like that. Dean made it clear that he wouldn't touch me like that until I was eighteen...But it was great, I mean, I know you probably think we're sick or something, but it just felt so great to be that way with him. We were always careful. We made sure our dad wasn't around, and he never suspected a thing. But it just...God, I wish you could understand how good it felt. We loved each other so damn much. We took care of each other and it felt great..." His voice had risen to an insistent pitch, trying to make her understand, to see that it wasn't wrong or that he hadn't been taken advantage of. It was the opposite of what it should've been. It was nurturing, loving and it freed them both.

 

Sasha was silent for a long time and in that time, Sam seriously began to believe that he'd lost her, that she'd get to her feet and walk away and take to heckling him with Parker. She sat in the chair with her leg drawn up to her chin which rested on her knee. She wasn't staring at anything in particular but her eyes were very bright. 

 

Finally she looked up at him and smiled warmly. 

 

"I understand, Sammy," she said softly. Relief flooded over Sam, warm and calming. He could tell that Sasha wasn't just saying it either. She really and truly understood. "There's a real difference between incest and love," She went on. "I mean, in technical terms it's still incest but you guys seem to really love each other and who am I to judge that?"

 

"Sash..." Sam's voice was shaking slightly. He took got a hold of himself and said, "Thank you."

 

"For what?"

 

"Not judging us," Sam said. 

 

"It's definitely a unique relationship," Sasha said, "but there's love there, Sammy, and that's a good thing. I mean, you guys pretty much lived on the dredges of society anyway, right?"

 

"Yeah."

 

"Then it shouldn't matter. Other people don't know what it's like so they don't have a right to judge as far as I'm concerned. I mean, in most cases incest is a bad, _bad_ thing, but you guys...well, like I said, there's real, pure love there and there's nothing wrong with that."

 

Sam smiled and reached a hand over and covered her small hand with his large one. She smiled warmly and him. 

 

"What are we gonna do about him being in jail?" Sam asked. 

 

Sasha bit her lip. "I don't think he'll be there for long," she said. "There's absolutely no evidence to support their theory that he's the killer. All they have to go on is that he's a new face in the area and that since he's been here at least one of the murders has happened. They can't exactly pin him with Michelle Mancini's murder since they arrested that gas station attendant, but even that's a bunch of bullshit."

 

"He's innocent," Sam agreed, "just like Dean."

 

"And yet they arrested them both just to make it look like they're doing something." Sasha scowled. "You watch. A news report comes out that says they have a suspect in custody regarding Damon's murder." She sighed heavily and then shook her hair out of her face. "So, what about this ghost?"

 

"I think it'd be best to do a seance tomorrow," Sam said. "There should be some supplies in the Impala...only Dean probably has the keys on him."

 

"Wait for tomorrow," Sasha said bracingly. "They're going to keep him in there overnight, I guarantee it. They can't really keep him longer unless concrete evidence turns up."

 

Sam yawned and stretched. It was only six o clock but he was tired, and he still had to study for a class tomorrow, although he was probably going to spend most of the night researching online to help with the investigation. 

 

"You should get going," Sasha said. "Stay at your dorm tonight. We'll go to the station first thing in the morning if Dean's not released by then."

 

"But the killer..."

 

"Paul's in your room. You'll be fine. And don't forget to ask him to look into that boy that Natalie and Michelle killed in that car accident."

 

Sam nodded, but didn't feel entirely reassured. There was still a chance that Paul could be the killer, but it was a chance he'd have to take. Besides, he had his knife somewhere at the bottom of one of the bags he hadn't completely unpacked in the back of the closet. He'd sleep with it under his pillow just in case.

 

With another big yawn, Sam got to his feet. Sasha did so as well and Sam, seeing the opportunity pulled her into a tight hug. She squeaked in surprise but then settled into it. 

 

"Thank you," he whispered.

 

"Anytime, kid," Sasha said with a smile. They walked out of the lounge together. Sam insisted that Sasha not walk him to his dorm. It was getting darker and he didn't want her outside by herself. She smiled at him when he said this and hugged him again. He watched her go until she turned the corner towards the media building before heading back to his dorm. Most of the students were inside by now. As Sam walked, he tried to keep his mind positive. Sasha had a point. The police had no real reason to keep Dean in custody, not without hard proof. He'd be out tomorrow, Sam was sure of it. Then they could get down to the task of nabbing this ghost, if that's what it was. 

 

Paul wasn't in the dorm when Sam finally got there. He shook his head, his admiration for Paul's dedication now mingled with slight suspicion. It sucked to suspect his friends, but he wasn't taking any chances. The bag that his knife had been in was in the closet, on his side and he had to shift through some of the shirts and sweaters until he'd cleared enough space to see that back.

 

Sam just about screamed. The killer was standing in the closet, the dark green fur lined parka perfectly still against the wall. He stumbled back towards the bed, prepared to grab some sort of weapon, but then stopped and looked harder. It wasn't the killer...but it was the same parka. In the closet he shared with Paul...did that mean that Paul was the killer? Clenching his jaw and ignoring the parka, Sam found his mostly empty bag and pulled out the knife Dean had given him years ago. Angrily, Sam slammed the closet door shut and then flopped down on his bed, suddenly feeling more exhausted. He needed to sleep. He pictured that first time with Dean as he closed his eyes and a smile crossed his lips. With that memory in his mind, Sam dozed off into a gentle sleep.

 

He was awoken several hours later by a noise he couldn't quite place. The dorm room was dark and a glance at his alarm clock told Sam that it was after midnight. Had he really been asleep that long? He lay there in the darkness, listening hard. For a moment, he thought he'd almost imagined the noise, but then it came again. A strange scratching noise coming from somewhere near the door. Sam sat up in bed and gripped his knife tight under the pillow. He glanced at the closet for a moment, wondering about the parka but then shook his head. He'd have heard someone enter the room. He glanced at Paul's bed and saw that it was empty. Great. 

 

The noise came again, louder and longer than before. There was no doubt about it. It was a scratching noise and it was coming from outside the door. Something or someone was scratching to be let in. Sam felt cold all over but determined to open the door and see what was making the noise. He had just set a foot out of bed when a strange feeling came over him, a sort of sudden languidness that caused him to relax, although the fear was still there, heightened almost. 

 

_Think_ , he mentally screamed, _just open the door and...no, no I can't. What if it's the killer!!! Oh God, I don't wanna be alone here..._

 

A new noise was added to the cacophony of scratches. A gurgling noise that made the hairs on the back of Sam's neck stand up. He stared, wide eyed at the door, willing himself to get up and open it, but he couldn't, no matter how hard he tried. Something was keeping him rooted to the spot in numbing fear. A fear that only increased when he heard the door knob rattle and realized that whatever it was, it was coming into the room. Letting out a small moan of fright, Sam toppled off the bed and crawled along the floor to the closet, throwing it open and burying himself in the back behind the clothes, closing the door behind him. He could see the the parka hanging up on the clothes rod and half fancied that it was really the killer and not just a harmless article of clothing.

 

From outside, he heard the door open and the gurgling noise become louder. It was in the room with him. Sam's breathing nearly stopped and he looked away from the door, hiding his face against the wall. There was a noise as though something was dragging itself along the floor and the gurgling noise was getting closer to the closet. Sam closed his eyes and pictured Dean in his mind, trying hard not to think about what was outside, yet still trying to tell himself that he needed to see it, that he was a hunter and his job was to protect.

 

Something rapped softly against the closet and Sam felt the whole world stop for several mind numbing seconds. Then, the gurgling stopped and something slid against the outside of the closet. He let out a deep breath. Whatever it was, it was gone, or at least it had given up. Sam closed his eyes and before he could do anything more, he fell asleep in the closet.

 

He awoke hours later, his face against the wall. Blinking, he stretched his shoulders and tried to figure out just why the hell he was in the closet. Then, as the events of last night came flooding back, Sam got to his feet, stooping in the cramped space. He pushed the closet door open, but found that something heavy was pressed against the outside. He frowned and gave a tremendous push, causing whatever was out there to tumble backwards as the door opened. For several seconds Sam simply stared at it, feeling his heart stop and his stomach drop out from below him.

 

Natalie was lying the floor of the dorm room, wearing the same clothes she'd had on yesterday. She was on her back and her eyes were wide and staring up at Sam, who felt himself back into the closet, staring in horror at the body in front of him. Across Natalie's throat was a large, violent slash. There was blood everywhere, trailing down the front of her clothes and, as Sam dared to look around, he saw a trail of blood leading from his door to the closet. He looked down at her nails and saw that they were scratched to the quick and bloodied. She'd been trying to get in last night to get his help.

 

And, as Sam realized just what the murder was, his eyes traveled to the wall over his bed. He'd been expecting it, he'd seen it in that damn urban legend book yesterday, but that didn't stop it from being horrifying. 

 

Written on the wall in Natalie's blood was the phrase, _"Aren't you glad you didn't turn on the light?"_ That was all it took to get Sam screaming.


End file.
